 14 The interim between Miranda setting down her table-lamp on the dungeon floor among the rats and the beetles, and the dwarfs finding her bleeding and senseless, was not more than twenty minutes, but a great deal may be done in twenty minutes judiciously expended, and most decidedly it was so in the present case. Both rats and beetles paused to contemplate the flickering lamp, and Miranda paused to contemplate them, and Sir Norman paused to contemplate her, for an instant or so in silence. Her marvelous resemblance to Leolene in all but one thing struck him more and more. There was the same beautiful, transparent, colorless complexion, the same light, straight, graceful figure, the same small oval delicate features, the same profuse waves of shining dark hair, the same large, dark, brilliant eyes, the same little rosy, pretty mouth like one of Correggio's smiling angels. The one thing wanting was expression. In Leolene's face there was a kind of childlike simplicity, a look half shy, half fearless, half solemn in her wonderful eyes, but in this, her prototype, there was nothing shy or solemn, all was cold, hard, and glittering, and the brooding eyes were full of a dull, dusky fire. She looked as hard and cold and bitter as she was beautiful, and Sir Norman began to perplex himself inwardly as to what had brought her here. Surely not sympathy, for nothing wearing that face of stone could even know the meaning of such a word. While he looked at her, half wonderingly, half pityingly, half tenderly, a queer word that last but the feeling was caused by her resemblance to Leolene, she had been moodily watching an old gray rat, the patriarch of his tribe, who was making toward her in short runs, stopping between each one to stare at her, out of his unpleasantly bright eyes. Suddenly Miranda shut her teeth, clenched her hands, and with a sort of fierce suppressed ejaculation, lifted her shining foot and planted it full on the rat's head. So sudden, so fierce, and so strong was the stamp that the rat was crushed flat, and uttered a sharp and indignant squeal of expostulation, while Sir Norman looked at her, thinking she had lost her wits. Still, she grounded down with a fiercer and stronger force every second, and with her eyes still fixed upon it, and blazing with reddish black flame, she said in a sort of fiery hiss, Look at it, the ugly, loathsome thing. Did you ever see anything look more like him? There must have been some mysterious rapport between them, for he understood at once to whom the solitary personal pronoun referred. Certainly, in the general expression of countenance, there is a rather marked resemblance, especially in the region of the teeth and eyes, except that the rat's eyes are a thousand times handsomer, she broke in, with a derisive laugh. But as to shape, resumed Sir Norman, eyeing the excited and astonished little animal still shrilly squealing with the glance of a connoisseur, I confess I do not see it. The rat is straight and shapely, which his highness with all reverence be it said is not, but rather the reverse, if you will not be offended at me for saying so. She broke into a short laugh that had a hard metallic ring, and then her face darkened, blackened, and she ground the foot that crushed the rat fiercer and with a sort of passionate vindictiveness as if she had the head of the dwarf under her heel. I hate him! I hate him! she said through her clenched teeth, and though her tone was scarcely above a whisper, it was so terrible in its fiery earnestness that Sir Norman thrilled with repulsion, yes, I hate him with all my heart and soul, and I wish to heaven I had him here like this rat to tremble to death under my feet. Not knowing very well what reply to make to this strong and heartfelt speech, which rather shocked his notions of female propriety, Sir Norman stood silent and looked reflectively after the rat, which, when she permitted it at last to go free, limped away with an ineffably sneaking and crestfallen expression on his hitherto animated features. She watched it too with a gloomy eye, and when it crawled into the darkness and was gone, she looked up with a face so dark and moody that it was almost sullen. Yes, I hate him! she repeated with a fierce moodiness that was quite dreadful. Yes, I hate him, and I would kill him like that rat if I could. He has been the curse of my whole life. He has made life cursed to me, and his heart's blood shall be shed for it's some day yet I swear. With all her beauty there was something so horrible in the look she wore that Sir Norman involuntarily recoiled from her. Her sharp eyes noticed it, and both grew red and fiery as two devouring flames. Ah, you two shrink from me, would you? You two recoil in horror? In great, and I have come to save your life! Madam, I recoil not from you, but from that which is tempting you to utter words like these. I have no reason to love him of whom you speak. You perhaps have even less. But I would not have his blood shed in murder on my head for ten thousand worlds. Pardon me, but you do not mean what you say. Do I not? That remains to be seen. I would not call it murder plunging a knife into the heart of a demon incarnate like that, and I would have done it long ago and he knows it too if I had the chance. What has he done to you to make you do bitter against him? Bitter? Oh! That word is poor and pitiful to express what I feel when his name is mentioned. Loathing and hatred come a little nearer the mark, but even they are weak to express the utter thee. She stopped in a sort of white passion that choked her very words. They told me he was your husband, insinuated Sir Norman, unutterably repelled. Did they? she said with a cold sneer. He is, too, at least as far as church and state can make him, but I am no more his wife at heart than I am Satan's. Truly of the two I should prefer the latter, for then I should be wedded to something grand, a fallen angel, as it is I have the honor to be wife to a devil who never was an angel. At this shocking statement Sir Norman looked helplessly round as if for relief, and Miranda after a moment's silence broke into another mirthless laugh. Oh! For all the pictures of ugliness you ever saw or heard of, Sir Norman Kingsley, do you tell me if there ever was one of them half so repulsive or disgusting as that thing? Really, said Sir Norman, innocent dude-tone, he is not the most prepossessing little man in the world, but, madame, you do look and speak in a manner quite dreadful. Do let me prevail on you to calm yourself and tell me your story as you promised. Calm myself, repeated the gentle lady, in a tone half snappish, half harsh. Do you think I am made of iron to tell you my story and be calm? I hate him. I hate him. I would kill him if I could, and if you, Sir Norman, are half the man I take you to be, you will rid the world of the horrible monster before morning dawns. My dear lady, you seem to forget that the case is reversed and that he is going to rid the world of me, said Sir Norman with a sigh. No, not if you do as I tell you, and when I have told you how much cause I have to abhor him, you will agree with me that killing him will be no murder. Oh, if there is one above who rules this world and will judge us all, why? Why does he permit such monsters to live? He is more merciful than his creatures, replied Sir Norman with calm reverence, though his avenging hand is heavy on this doomed city. But madam, time is on the wing, and the headsman will be here before your story is told. Ah, that story, how am I to tell it, I wonder? Two words will comprise it all, sin and misery, misery and sin. You're buried alive here as I am buried alive as I've always been. I know what both words mean. They have been branded on heart and brain in letters of fire, and that horrible monstrosity is the cause of all that loaths and misshapen hideous abortion has banned and cursed my whole life. He is my first recollection. As far back as I can look through the demise of childhood's years, that horrible face, that gnarled and twisted trunk, those devilish eyes glare at me like the eyes and face of a wild beast. As memory grows stronger and more vivid, I can see that same face still. The dwarf, the dwarf, the dwarf, Satan's true representative on earth, darkening and blighting, ever passing here. I do not know where we lived by imagine it to have been one of the vilest and lowest dens in London, though the rooms I occupied were, for that matter, decent and orderly enough. Those rooms the daylight never entered. The windows were boarded up within and fastened by shutters without, so that of the world beyond I was as ignorant as a child of two hours old. I saw but two human faces, his. She seemed to hate him too much even to pronounce his name, and his housekeepers, a creature almost as vile as himself and who is now a servant here. And with this precious pair to guard me, I grew up to be fifteen years old. My outer life consisted of eating, sleeping, reading, for the wretch taught me to read, playing with my dogs and birds, and listening to old Margaery's stories. But there was an inward life, fierce and strong, as it was rank and morbid, lived and brooded over alone, when Margaery and her master fancied me sleeping in idiotic content. How were they to know that the creature they had reared and made ever had a thought of her own, ever wondered who she was, where she came from, what she was destined to be, and what lay in the great world beyond? The crooked little monster made a great mistake in teaching me to read. He should have known that books so seeded that grow up and flourish tall and green, till they become giants in strength. I knew enough to be certain there was a bright and glad world without, from which they shut me in and debarred me, and I knew enough to hate them both for it, with a strong and heartfelt hatred only second to what I feel now. She stopped for a moment and fixed her dark gloomy eyes on the swarming floor, and shook off without a shudder the hideous things that crawled over her rich dress. She had scarcely looked at Sir Norman since she began to speak, but he had done enough looking for them both, never once taking his eyes from the handsome darkening face. He thought how strangely like her story was to Leolines, both shut in and isolated from the outer world. Verily, destinies seemed to have woven the wolfen warp of their fates wonderfully together, for their lives were as much the same as their faces. Miranda, having shook off her crawling acquaintances, watched them glancing along the foul floor in the darkness, and went moodily on. It was three years ago when I was fifteen years old, as I told you, that a change took place in my life. Up to that time, that miserable dwarf was what people would call my guardian, and did not trouble me much with his heavenly company. He was a great deal from our house, sometimes absent for weeks together, and a remember I used to envy the freedom with which he came and went, far more than I ever wondered where he spent his precious time. I did not know then that he belonged to the honorable profession of highwaymen, with variations of coining, when travelers were few and money scarce. He was then, and is still at the head of a formidable gang over whom he wields most desperate authority, as perhaps you have noticed during the brief and pleasant period of your acquaintance. Really, madam, it struck me that your authority over them was much more despotic than his, since you're Norman, in all sincerity, feeling called upon to give the, well, I'd rather not repeat the word, which is generally spelled with a D, and a dash, his do. No thanks to him for that. He would make me a slave now as he did then, if he dared, but he has found that poor, trodden worm as I was, I had life enough left to turn and sting, which you do with a vengeance. Oh, I, you're a tartar, remarks her Norman to himself. The saints forfend that Leolene should be like you in temper, as she is in history and face, for if she is, my life promises to be a pleasant one. This rascally crew of cutthroats, whom his villainous highness headed, said Miranda, were an almost immense number then being divided in three bodies, London cutpurses, Houndslow Heath highwaymen, and assistant coiners, but all owning him for their lord and master. He told me all this himself one day when, in an after-dinner and most gracious mood, he made a boasting display of his wealth and greatness, told me I was growing up very pretty indeed, and that I was shortly to be raised to the honor and dignity and bliss of being his wife. I fancy I must have had a very vague idea of what that one small word meant, and was besides, in an unusually contented and peaceful state of mind, or I should undoubtedly, have raised one of his cut-glass decanters and smashed in his head with it. I know how I should receive such an assertion from him now, but I think I took it then with a resignation. He must have found mighty edifying, and when he went on to tell me that all this richness and greatness were to be shared by me when that celestial time came, I think I rather like the idea than otherwise. The horrible creatures seemed to have woke up that day for the first time, and all of a sudden to a conviction that I was not a fair way to become a woman, and rather a handsome one, and that he had better make sure of me before any accident interfered to take me from him. Full of this launable notion, he became a daily visitor of mine from thenceforth, and made the discovery simultaneously with myself that the oftener he came, the less favor he found in my sight. I had before tacitly disliked him, and shrank with a natural repulsion from his dreadful ugliness, but now from negative dislike I grew to positive hate. The utter loathing and abhorrence I've had for him ever since began then, I grew dimly and intuitively conscious of what he would make me, and shrank from my fate with a vague horror not to be told in words. I became strong in my fearful dread of it, I told him I detested, abhorred, loathed, hated him, that he might keep his riches, greatness, and ungainly self for those who wanted him. They were temptations too weak to move me. Of course there was raving and storming, threatening terrible looks and denunciations, then I quail and shrank like a coward, but was obstinate still. Then as a dernier resort, he tried another bribe, the glorious one of liberty, the one he knew would conquer me, and it did. He promised me freedom. If I married him, I might go out into the great unknown world, fetterless and free, and I, oh fool that I was, consented. But that my object was to stay with him one instant longer than my prison doors were opened. No, I was not quite so besotted as that, once out, and the little demon might look for me with last year's partridges. Of course, those demonic eyes read my heart like an open book, and when I pronounced the fatal yes, he laughed in that delightful way of his own, which will probably be the last thing you will hear when you lay your head under the axe. I don't know who the clergyman who married us was, but he was a clergyman. There can be no doubt about that. It was three days after, and for the first time in my fifteen years of life I stood in sunshine and daylight and open air. We drove to the cathedral, for it was in St. Paul's the sacrilege was committed. I never could have walked there. I was so stunned and giddy and bewildered, I never thought of the marriage. I could think of nothing but the bright, crashing, sunshiny world without, till I was led up before the clergyman, with much the air, I suppose, of one walking in her sleep. He was a very young man, I remember, and looked from the dwarf to me, and from me to the dwarf, in a great state of fear and uncertainty, but evidently not daring to refuse. Marjorie and one of his gang were our only attendants, and there, in God's temple, the deed was done, and I was made the miserable thing I am today. The suppressed passion rising and throbbing like a white flame in her face and eyes made her stop for a moment, breathing hard. Looking up, she met Sir Norman's gaze, and as if there was something in its quiet, giddy-ing tenderness that mesmerized her into calm, she steadily and rapidly went on. I awoke to a new life after that, but not to one of freedom and happiness. I was as closely, even more closely guarded than ever, and I found, when too late, that I had bartered myself, soul and body, for an empty promise. The only difference was that I saw more new faces, for the dwarf began to bring his confederates and subordinates to the house, and would have me dressed up and displayed to them with a demonic pride that revolted me beyond anything else, if I were a painted puppet or an overgrown wax doll. Most of the precious crew of scoundrels had wives of their own, and these began to be brought with them of an evening, and then, with dancing and music and cards and feasting, we had quite a carnival of it till morning. I liked this part of the business excessively well at first, and I was flattered and fooled to the top of my bent, and made from the first the reigning bell and queen. There was more policy in that than admiration, I fancy. For the dwarf was all-powerful among them, and dreaded accordingly, and I was the dwarf's pet and plaything, and all-powerful with him. This hideous creature had a most hideous passion for me then, and I could wind him round my finger as easily as Delilah and Samson, and by his command and their universal consent, the mimicry of royalty was begun, and I was made mistress and sovereign head, even over the dwarf himself. It was a queer whim, but that crooked slug was always taking such odd notions into his head, which nobody there dared laugh at. The band were bound together by a terrible oath, women and all, but they had to take another oath then, that of allegiance to me. It quite turned my brain at first, and my eyes were so dazzled by the pitiful glistening of the pageant, the sham splendor of the sham court, and the half-mucking, half-serious homage paid me that I could see nothing beyond the shining surface, and the blackness and corruption and horror within were altogether lost upon me. This feeling increased when, as months and months went by, they were added to the mock peers of the midnight court, real nobles from that of St. Charles. I did not know then that they were ruined game-sters, vicious profligates and desperate broken-down roues, who would have gone to pandemonium itself nightly for the mad license and lawless excesses they could indulge in here to their hearts' content. But I got tired of it all after time. My eyes began slowly to open, and my heart, at least, what little of that article I ever had, turned sick with the horror within me of what I had done. The awful things I saw, the fearful deeds that were perpetrated would curdle your blood with horror were I to relate them. You have seen a specimen, yourself, in the cold-blooded murder of that wretch half an hour ago, and his is not the only life crying for vengeance on these men. The slightest violation of their oath was punished, and the doom of traitors and informers was instant death, whether male or female. The sham trials and executions always took place in presence of the whole court to strike a salutary terror into them, and never occurred but once a week when the whole band regularly met. My power continued undiminished, for they knew either the dwarf or I must be supreme, and though the queen was bad, the prince was worse. The said prince would willingly have pulled me down from my eminence, and have mounted it himself, but that he was probably restrained by a feeling that lawmakers should not be law-breakers, and that, if he set the example, there would be no end to the insubordination and rebellion that would follow. Were you living here or in London, then, inquired Sir Norman, taking an advantage of a pause employed by Miranda in shaking off the crawling beetles. Oh, in London, we did not come here until the outbreak of the plague that frightened them, especially the female portion, and they held a scared meeting and resolved that we should take up our quarters somewhere else, this place being old and ruined, and deserted, and with all sorts of evil rumors hanging about it was hit upon, and secretly by night these moldering old vaults were fitted up and the goods and chattels of the royal court removed, and here I too was brought by night under the dwarf's own eye, for he well knew I would have risked a thousand plagues to escape from him, and here I have been ever since, and here the weakly revels are still held, and may for years to come, unless something is done tonight to prevent it. The night before these weakly anniversaries they all gather, but during the rest of the time I am alone with Marjorie and the dwarf, and have learned more secrets about this place than they dream of. For the rest there is little need of explanation. The dwarf and his crew have industriously circulated the rumor that is haunted, and some of those white figures who saw with me and who, by the way, are the daughters of these robbers, have been shown on the broken battlements as if to put the fact beyond doubt. Now, sir Norman, that is all. You have heard my whole history as far as I know it, and nothing remains but to tell you what you must see yourself, that I am mad for revenge, and must have it, and you must help me. Her eyes were shining with a fierce red fire he had seen in them before, and the white face wore a look so deadly and diabolical that with all its beauty it was absolutely repulsive. He took a step from her, for in each of those gleaming eyes sat a devil. You must help me! She persisted. You! You, sir Norman, for many a day I have been waiting for a chance like this, and until now I have waited in vain, alone. I want physical strength to kill him, and I dare not trust anyone else. No one was ever cast among us before as you have been, and now, condemned to die, you must be desperate, and desperate men will do desperate things. Fate, destiny, providence, whatever you like, has thrown you in my way, and help me you must and shall. Madam, madam, what are you saying? How can I help you? There is but one way, this! She held up in the pale ray of the lamp something she drew from the folds of her dress that glistened blue and bright and steely in the gloom. A dagger! He exclaimed with a shudder and a recoil, Madam, are you talking of murder? I told you, she said through her closed teeth and with her eyes flaming like fire, that ridding the earth of that fiend incarnate would be a good deed and no murder. I would do it myself if I could take him off his guard, but he never is that with me, and then my arm is not strong enough to reach his black heart through all that mass of brawn and blood and muscle. No, Sir Norman, doom has allotted it to you. O bay, and I swear to you, you shall go free! Refuse, and in ten minutes your head will roll under the executioner's axe. Better that than the freedom you offer, Madam, I cannot murder. Coward, she passionately cried, you fear to do it, and yet you have but a life to lose, and that is lost to you now. Sir Norman raised his head, and even in the darkness she saw the haughty flush that crimsoned his face. I fear no man living, but, Madam, I fear one who is higher than man. But you will die, if you refuse, and I repeat, again and again, there is no risk. These guards will not let you out, but there are more ways of leaving a room than through the door, and I can lead you up behind the tapestry to where he is standing, and you can stab him through the back and escape with me. Quick, quick, there is no time to lose. I cannot do it, he said resolutely, drawing back and folding his arms. In short, I will not do it. There was such a terrible look in the beautiful eyes that he half expected to see her spring at him like a wild cat and bury the dagger in his own breast, but the rule of life works by contraries. Expect a blow, and you will get a kiss. Look for an embrace, and you will be startled by a kick. When the varago spoke, her voice was calm, compared with what it had been before, and mild. He refused, well, a willful man must have his way, and since you are so quamish about a little bloodletting, we must try another plan. If I release you, for short as the time is, I can do it. Will you promise me to go direct to the king this very night and inform him of all you've seen and heard here? She looked at him with an eagerness that was almost fierce, and in spite of her steady voice there was something throbbing and quivering, deadly and terrible in her upturned face. The form she looked at was erect and immovable. The eyes were quietly resolved, the mouth half pityingly, half sadly smiling. Are you aware, dear lady, what the result of such a step would be? Death, she said coldly. Death, transportation, or lifelong imprisonment to the mall, misery and disgrace to many a noble house, for some I saw there were once friends of mine with families I honor and respect. Could I bring the dwarf and his attendant imps to Tyburn and treat them to a hemp and cravat? I would do it without remorse, though the notion of being informer even then would not be very pleasant, but as it is I cannot be the death of one without ruining all, and as I told you some of those were once my friends, no, madam, I cannot do it. I have but once to die, and I prefer death here to purchasing life at such a price. There was a short silence during which they gazed into each other's eyes ominously, and one was about as colorless as the other. You refuse, she coldly said. I must, but if you can save my life as you say, why not do it and fly with me? You will find me the truest and most grateful of friends while life remains. You are very kind, but I want no friendships, sir Norman, nothing but revenge. As to escaping, I could have done that any time since we came here, for I have found out a secret means of exit from each of these vaults that they know nothing of, but I have stayed to see him dead at my feet, if not by my hand, at least by my command, and since you will not do it, I will make the attempt myself. Farewell, sir Norman Kingsley, before many minutes you will be a corpse, and your blood will be upon yourself. She gave him a glance as coldly fierce as her dagger's glance, and turned to go, when he stepped hastily forward and interposed. Miranda, Miranda you are crazed, stop, and tell me what you intend to do. What you were feared to attempt, she heartily replied, sheeth this dagger in his demon heart. Miranda, give me the dagger, you must not, you shall not commit such a crime. Shall not, she uttered scornfully, and who are you that dares to speak to me like this? Stand aside, coward, and let me pass. Pardon me, but I cannot, while you hold that dagger. Give it to me, and you shall go free, but while you hold it with this intention for your own sake, I will detain you till someone comes. She uttered a low fierce cry, and struck at him with it, but he caught her hand, and with sudden force snatched it from her. In doing so, he was obliged to hold it with its point toward her, and struggling for it in a sort of frenzy as he raised the hand that held it, she slipped forward and was driven half way to the hilt in her side. There was a low gasping cry, a sudden clasping of both hands over her heart, a sway, a reel, and she fell headlong, prostrate on the loathsome floor. Sir Norman stood paralyzed. She half raised herself on her elbow, drew the dagger from the wound, and a great jet of blood shot up and crimson her hands. She did not faint. There seemed to be a deathless energy within her that chained life strongly in its place. She only pressed both hands hard over the wound, and looked mournfully and reproachfully up in his face. Those beautiful, sad, solemn eyes devoid of everything savage and fierce were truly Leoline's eyes now. Through all of his first shock of horror, another thing dawned on his mind. He had looked on this scene before. It was the second view in La Masque's cauldron, and but one remained to be verified. The next instant, he was down on his knees in a paroxysm of grief and despair. What have I done? What have I done? was his cry. Listen, she said faintly raising one finger. Do you hear that? Distant steps were at going along the passage. Yes, he heard them, and he knew what they were. They are coming to lead you to death, she said with some of her old fire. But I will baffle them yet. Take that lamp. Go to the wall yonder, and in that corner near the floor you will see a small iron ring. Pull it. Does not require much force, and you will find an opening leading through another vault. At the end, there is a broken flight of stairs. Mouth them, and you will find yourself in the same place from which you fell. Fly, fly! There is not a second to lose. How can I fly? How can I leave you dying here? I am not dying! She wildly cried, lifting both hands from the wound to push him away while the blood flowed over the floor. But we will both die if you stay. Go, go, go! The footsteps had paused at his door. The bolts were beginning to be withdrawn. He lifted the lamp, flew across his prison, found the ring, and took a pull at it with desperate strength. Part of what appeared to be the solid wall drew out, disclosing an aperture through which he could just squeeze sideways. Quick as thought, he was through, forgetting the lamp in his haste. The portion of the wall slid noiselessly back, just as the prison door was thrown open, and the dwarf's voice was heard, socially inviting him, like Mrs. Bond's ducks, to come and be killed. Some people talk of darkness so palpable that it may be felt, and if ever anyone was qualified to tell from experience what it felt like, Sir Norman was in that precise condition at that precise period. He groped his way through the blind blackness along what seemed an interminable distance and stumbled at last over the broken stairs at the end. With some difficult and at the serious risk of his jugular, he mounted them and found himself, as Miranda had stated, in a place he knew very well. Once here, he allowed no grass to grow under his feet, and in five minutes after to his great delight, he found himself where he had never hoped to be again in the serene moonlight and the open air, fetterless and free. His horse was still where he had left him, and in a twinkling he was on his back and dashing away to the city, to love, to lay a lean. End of chapter 14. Chapter 15 of The Midnight Queen. This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org, reading by Lash Rolander. The Midnight Queen by May Agnes Fleming. Chapter 15. LeoLine's Visitors. If things were done right, but they are not, and never will be, while this whirling world of mistakes spins round and all Adam's children to the end of the chapter will continue sinning today and repenting tomorrow, falling the next and bewailing it the day after. If LeoLine had gone to bed directly like a good, dutiful little girl as her Norman ordered her, she would have saved herself a good deal of trouble and tears. But LeoLine and sleep were destined to shake hands and turn the backs on each other that night. It was time for all honest folks to be in bed, and the dark-eyed beauty knew it too, but she had no notion of going, nevertheless. She stood in the center of the room where he had left her with a spot like a scarlet rospery on either cheek, a soft half-smile on the perfect mouth, and a light, unexpressibly tender and dreamy, in those artisian wells of beauty, her eyes. Most young girls of green and tender years, suffering from love's young dream and that sort of thing, have just that soft, shy, brooding look whenever their thoughts happen to turn to their particular beloved. And there are few eyes so ugly that it does not beautify, even should they be as cross as two sticks. You should have seen LeoLine standing in the center of a pretty room with her bright rose satin, glancing and glittering and flowing over rug and mat, with her black, waving hair, clustering and curling like shining flossil with the rich white shimmer of pearls on the pale, smooth forehead and large, beautiful arms. She did look irresistibly bewitching, beyond doubt, and it was just as well for Sir Norman's peace of mind that he did not see her, for he was bad enough without that. So she stood thinking tenderly of him for a half hour or so, quite undisturbed by the storm. And how strange it was that she had risen up that very morning, expecting to be one man's bride, and that she should rise up the next, expecting to be another's. She could not realize it at all, and with a little sigh half pleasure, half resentment, she walked to the window, drew the curtain and looked out at the night. All was peaceful and serene. The moon was full to overflowing, and a great deal of extra light ran over the brim. Quite a quantity of stars were out and were winking pleasantly down at the dark little planet below that went round and round with grim stoices and paid no attention to anybody's business, but its own. She saw the heaps of black charred ashes that the rush of rain had quenched. She saw the still and empty street, the frowning row of gloomy houses opposite, and the man on guard before one of them. She had watched that man all day, thinking with a sick shudder of the plague-stricken prisoners he guarded and reading its pictures' inscription. Lord, have mercy on us, till the words seemed branded on her brain. While she looked now, an upper window was opened, a nightcap was thrust out, and a voice from its cavernous depths hailed the guard. Robert, I say Robert! While, said Robert, looking out, Master and Mrs. be gone at last, and the rest won't leave till morning. Won't they? said Robert, phlegmatically. What a pity! Got him ready, and I'll stop the dead cart when it comes round. Just as he spoke, the well-known grattle of wheels, the loud ringing of the bell, and the monotonous cry of the driver. Bring out your dead, bring out your dead! Echoed on the pale night's silence, and the pest-cart came rumbling and jolting along with its load of death, the watchman hailed the driver according to promise, and they entered the house together, brought out one long white figure, and then another, and threw them on top of the ghastly heap. I'll have three more for you in nine hours, so don't forget to come round! Suggested the watchman. All right! said the driver as he took his place, whipped his horse, rang his bell, and joked along nonchantly to the plate pit. Seek at heart, Leoline dropped the curtain, and turned round to see somebody else standing at her elbow. She had been quite alone when she looked out. She was alone no longer. There had been no noise, yet someone had entered and was standing beside her. A tall figure, all in black, with its sweeping velvet robes sprangled with stars of golden rubies, a perfect figure of incomparable grace and beauty. It had a worn cloak that had dropped lightly from its shoulders, and lay on the floor, and the long hair streamed in darkness over shoulder and waist. The face was masked, the form stood erect and perfectly motionless, and the scream of surprise and consternation that arose from Leoline's lips died out in wordless terror. Her noiseless visitor proceeded, and touching her arm lightly with one little white hand, said in her sweetest and most exquisite of tomes, My child, do not tremble so, and do not look so deathly white. You know me, do you not? You are a musk, said Leoline, trembling with nervous treat. I am, and no stranger to you, though perhaps you think so. Is it your habit every night to look out of your window in full dress until morning? How did you enter? Asked Leoline, her curiosity overcoming for a moment even her fear. Through the door, not a difficult thing either, if you leave it wide open every night as it is this. Was it open? said Leoline in dismay. I never knew it. Ah, then it was not you who went out last. Who was it? It was, was Leoline's cheeks were scarlet. It was a friend. A somewhat late hour for one's friends to visit? said Lamas sarcastically. And you should learn the precaution of seeing them to the door and fastening it after them. Rest assured I shall do so for the future, said Leoline with a look that would have reminded Sir Norman of Miranda had he seen it. I scarcely expected the honour of any more visits, particularly from strangers tonight. See will that? Will you ask me to sit down? Or am I to consider myself an unseasonable intruder and depart? Madam, will you do me the honour to be seated? The hour, as you say, is somewhat unseasonable, and you will oblige me by letting me know to what I am indebted for the pleasure of this visit as quickly as possible. There was something quite dignified about Mistress Leoline as she swept rustling past Lamas, sank into the pillowy depths of her lounge, and motioned her visitor to a seat with a slight and graceful wave of her hand. Not but that in her secret heart she was a good deal frightened, for something under her pink satin corsage was going pit-a-pat at a wonderful rate, but she thought that betraying such a feeling would not be the thing. Perhaps the tall dark figure saw it and smiled behind her mask, but outwardly she only leaned slightly against the back of the chair and glanced discreetly at the door. Are you sure we are quite alone? Quite! Because, said Lamas in her low, silvery tones, what I have come to say is not for the years of any third person living. We are entirely alone, madame," replied Leoline, opening her black eyes very wide. Prudence is gone, and I do not know when she will be back. Prudence will never come back, said Lamas quietly. Madame, my dear, do not look so shocked. It is not her fault. You know, she deserted you for fear of the plague. Yes, yes. Well, that did not save her. Nay, it even brought on what she dreaded so much. Your nurse's plague stricken, my dear, and lies ill unto death in the pest-house in Finnsbury Fields. Oh dreadful! exclaimed Leoline, while every drop of blood fled from her face. My poor, poor old nurse! Your poor, poor old nurse left you without much tenderness when she thought you dying of the same disease, said Lamas quietly. Oh, that is nothing. The suddenness of the shock drove her to it, my poor dear Prudence. Well, you can do nothing for her now, said Lamas in a tone of slight impatience. Prudence is beyond all human aid, and so, let her rest in peace. You were carried to the plague pit yourself for dead, were you not? Yes, answered the paleops, while she shivered all over at the recollection. And was saved by? By whom were you saved, my dear? By two gentlemen. Oh, I know that. What were their names? One was Mr. Ormiston. The other was, hesitating and blushing vividly, Sir Norman Kingsley. Lamas leaned across her chair and laid one dainty finger lightly on the girl's hot cheek. And for which is that blush, Leoline? Madam, was it only to ask me questions you came here, said Leoline, drawing proudly back, though the hot red spot grew hotter and redder. If so, you will excuse my declining to answer any more. Child, child, said the Lamas in a tone so strangely sad that it touched Leoline. Do not be angry with me. It is no idle curiosity that sent me here at this hour to ask impertinent questions, but a claim that I have upon you stronger than that of anyone else in the world. Leoline's beautiful eyes opened wider yet. A claim upon me? How? Why? I do not understand. All in good time. Will you tell me something of your past history, Leoline? Madam Musk, I have no history to tell. All my life I have lived alone with prudence, that in the whole of it in nine words. Lamas half laughed. Short, sharp, and decisive, had you never father or mother? There is a slight probability I may have had at some past period, said Leoline, sighing, but none that I ever knew. Why does not prudence tell you? Prudence is only my nurse, and says she has nothing to tell. My parents died when I was an infant and left me in her care. That is her story. A likely one enough, and yet I see by your face that you doubt it. I too doubt it. There are a thousand little outward things that make me fancy it is false, and an inward voice that assures me it is so. Then let me tell you that inward voice tells falsehoods, for I know that your father and mother are both dead these fourteen years. Leoline's great black eyes were fixed on her face with a look so wild and eager, that Lamas laid her hand lightly and soothingly on her shoulder. Don't look at me with such a spectral face. What is there so extraordinary in all I have said? You said you knew my father and mother. No such thing. I said I knew they were dead, but the other fact is true also. I did know them when living. Madam, who are you? Who were they? I? Oh, I am Lamas, the sorceress, and they. They were Leoline's father and mother, and again Lamas slightly laughed. You mocked me, madam, cried Leoline passionately. You are cruel, you are heartless. If you know anything in heaven's name tell me, if not go and leave me in peace. Thank you, I shall do that presently, and as to the other. Of course I shall tell you. What else do you suppose I have come for tonight? Look here, do you see this? She drew out from some hidden pocket in her dress a small and beautifully wrought casket of ivory and silver, with straps and clasps of silver and a tiny key of the same. Well, asked Leoline, looking from it to her, with the blank air of one utterly bewildered, In this casket, my dear, there is a roll of papers, closely written, which you are to read as soon as I leave you. Those papers contain your whole history. Do you understand? She was looking so white and staring so hard, and so hopelessly, that there was need of the question. She took the casket and gazed at it with a perplexed air. My child, have your thoughts gone bull-gathering? Do you not comprehend what I have said to you? Your whole history is hid in that box. I know, said Leoline slowly, and with her eyes again riveted to the black mask. But madam, who are you? Have I not told you? What a pretty inquisitor it is. I am La Masque, your friend now. Something more soon, as you will see when you read what I have spoken of. Do not ask me how I have come by it. You will read all about it there. I did not know that I would give it to you tonight, but I have a strange foreboding that it is destined to be my last on earth. And Leoline, my child, before I leave you, let me hear you say you will not hate me when you read what is there. What have you done to me? Why should I hate you? Ah, you will find that all out soon enough. Do content me, Leoline. Let me hear you say. La Masque, whatever you have done to me, however you have wronged me, I will forgive you. Can you say that? Leoline repeated it simply, like a little child. La Masque took her hand, held it between both her own, leaned over, and looked earnestly in her face. My little Leoline, my beautiful rose-spot, may heaven bless you and grant you a long and happy life with, shall I say it, Leoline? Please, now, whispered Leoline shyly. La Masque softly patted the little tremulous hand. We are both saying the name now in our hearts, my dear, so it is little matter whether your lips repeat it or not. He is worthy of you, Leoline, and your life will be a happy one by his side, but there is another. She paused and lowered her voice. When have you seen Count Littrage? Not since yesterday, madam. Beware of him. Do you know who he is, Leoline? I know nothing of him but his name. Then do not seek to know, said La Masque emphatically, for it is a secret you would tremble to hear. And now I must leave you, come with me to the door, and fasten it as soon as I go out, lest you should forget it all together. Leoline with a dazed expression thrust the precious little casket into the bosom of her dress, and taking up the lamp, preceded her visitor downstairs. At the door they paused, and La Masque with her hand on her arm, repeated in a low earnest voice, Leoline, beware of Count Littrage, and become Lady Kingsley as soon as you can. I will bear that name to-morrow, thought Leoline, with a glad little three-letter heart as La Masque flitted out into the moonlight. Leoline closed and locked the door, driving the bolts into their sockets, and making all secure. I defy anyone to get in again tonight, she said, smiling at her own dexterity, and lamp in hand, she ran lightly upstairs to read the long, unsolved riddle. So eager was she that she had crossed the room, laid the lamp on the table, and sat down before it ere she became aware that she was not alone. Someone was leaning against the mantle, his arm on it, and his eyes to her, gazing with an air of incomparable coolness and ease. It was a man this time, something more than a man, a Count, and Count Littrage at that. Leoline sprang to her feet with a wild scream, a cry full of terror, a maze and superstitious dream, and the Count raised his hand with a self-possessed smile. Pardon, fair Leoline, if I intrude, but have I not a right to come at all hours and visit my bride? Leoline is no bride of yours, retorted that young lady passionately, her indignation overpowering both fear and surprise, and what is more, never will be now, sir. So my little bird of paradise can fire up by sea. As to your being my bride, that remains to be seen. You promise to be tonight, you know? Then I'll recall that promise, I have changed my mind. Well, that's not very astonishing, it is but the privilege of your sex. Nevertheless, I'm afraid I must insist on your becoming Count Littrage and that immediately. Never, sir, I will die first. Oh, no, we could not spare such a bright little beauty out of this ugly world. You will live and live for me, sir, cried Leoline, white with passion, and her black eyes blazing with a fire that would have killed him, could fire a glassy sleigh. I do not know how you have entered here, but I do know if you are a gentleman, you will leave me instantly. Go, sir, I never wish to see you again. But when I wish to see you so much, my darling Leoline, said the Count with provoking indifference, what does a little reluctance on your part signify? Get your hood and mantle, my love, my horse awaits us without, and let us fly where neither plague nor mortal man will interrupt our nuptials. Will no one take this man away? She cried looking helplessly round and wringing her hands. Certainly not, my dear, not even Sir Norman Kingsley. George, I am afraid this pretty little vixen will not go peaceably. You had better come in. With a smile on his face, he took a step toward her. Shrieking wildly, she darted across the room and made for the door, just as somebody else was entering. The next instant a shawl was thrown over her head, her cries smothered in it, and she was lifted in a pair of strong arms, carried downstairs, and out into the night. End of Chapter 15, read by Lars Rolander. Chapter 16 of The Midnight Queen This is a LibriVox recording, or LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org, reading by Lars Rolander. The Midnight Queen, by May Agnes Fleming, Chapter 16, The Third Vision Presentments are strange things. From the first moment Sir Norman entered the city and his thoughts had been able to leave Miranda and find themselves fully on Leoline. A heavy foreboding of evil to her had oppressed him. Some danger he was sure had befallen her during his absence. How could it be otherwise with the Earl of Rochester and Count Lytrange, both on her track? Perhaps by this time one or other had found her, and alone and unaided she had been an easy victim, and was now born beyond his reach forever. The thought goaded him and his horse almost to distraction, for the moment it struck him, he struck spurs into his horse, making that unoffending animal jumps posmodically. Like one of those prancing steeds, Miss Bonheur is fond of depicting. Through the streets he flew at a frantic rate, growing more excited and full of apprehension, the nearer he came to Ode London Bridge, and calling herself a select litany of hard names inwardly, for having left the dear little thing at all. If I find her herself and well, thought Sir Norman emphatically, nothing short of an earthquake or dying of the plague will ever induce me to leave her again, until she is Lady Kingsley, and in the old manner of Devonshire. What a fool, idiot, and niny I must have been to have left her as I did. Knowing those two sleuth hounds were in full chase, what are all the Miranda's and Midnight Queens to me if Leoline is lost? That last question was addressed to the elements in general, and as they disdained reply he countered unfuriously till the old house by the river was reached. It was the third time that night he had paused to contemplate it, and each time with very different feelings. First from simple curiosity, second in an ecstasy of delight, and third and last in an agony of apprehension. All around was peaceful and still, moon and stars sailed serenely through a sky of silver and snow. A faint cool breeze floated up from the river, and fanned his hot and fevered forehead. The whole city lay wrapped in stillness as profound and deft light, as the fabled one of the marble prints in the eastern tale, nothing living moved abroad. But the lonely night guard keeping their dreary vigils before the plague-stricken houses, and the ever-present, ever-bisypest guard with its mournful bell and dreadful cry. As far as Sir Norman could see, no other human being but himself and the solitary watchman so often mentioned were visible. Even he could scarcely be said to be present, for though leaning against the house with his whole bed on his shoulder, he was sound asleep at his post, and far away in the land of dreams. It was the second night of his watch, and with a good conscience and a sound digestion, there is no earthly anguish short of the toothache, strong enough to keep a man awake two nights in succession. So some were his balmy slumbers in his airy chamber, that not even the loud clatter of Sir Norman's horses hoops proved strong enough to arouse him. And that young gentleman, after glancing at him, made up his mind to try to find out for himself before arousing him to seek information. Securing his home, he looked up at the house with wistful eyes, and saw that the solitary light still burned in her chamber. It struck him now how very imprudent it was to keep that lamp burning, for if countletranche saw it, it was all up with Leo-line, and there was even more to be treated from him than from the earth. How was he to find out whether that illuminated chamber had a tenant or not? Certainly standing there staring till doomsday would not do it, and there seemed but two ways that of entering the house at once or arousing the man. But the man was sleeping so soundly that it seemed a pity to awake him for a trifle, and after all there could be no great harm or indiscretion in his entering to see if his pride was safe. Probably Leo-line was asleep and would know nothing about it, or even were she wide awake and watchful. She was altogether too sensible a girl to be displeased at his anxiety about her. If she were still awake and waiting for daydorn, he resolved to remain with her and keep her from feeling lonesome until that time came. If she were asleep he would still out softly again and keep guard at her door until morning. Full of these praiseworthy resolutions he tried the handle of the door, half expecting to find it locked, and himself obliged to effect an entrance through the window. But no, it yielded to his touch and he went in. Hall and staircase were intensely dark, but he knew his way without a pilot this time, and stared clear of all shoals and quicksands through the hall and up the stairs. The door of the lighted room, Leo-line's room lay wide open, and he paused on the threshold to reconnautre. He had gone softly for fear of startling her, and now with the same tender caution he glanced round the room. The lamp burned on the dainty dressing table, where undisturbed lay jewels, perfume bottles, and other knickknacks. The sit and lay unmolested on the couch. The rich curtains were drawn. Everything was as he had left it last, everything but the pretty pink figure, with drooping eyes and pearls in the waves of a rich black hair. He looked round for the things she had worn, hoping she had taken them off and retired to rest. But they were not to be seen, and with the cold sinking of the heart he went noiselessly across the room and to the bed. It was empty and showed no trace of having been otherwise since he and the pest-car driver had borne from it the apparently lifeless form of Leo-line. Yes, she was gone, and Sir Norman turned for a moment, so sick with uttered greed that he leaned against one of the tall card-posts, and hated himself for having left her with a heartlessness that his worst enemy could not have surpassed. Then, aroused into new and spasmodic energy by the exigency of the case, he ceased the lamp, and going out to the hall made the house ring from basement to attic with her name. No reply, but that hollow melancholy echo that sounds so lugubriously through empty houses was returned. And he jumped downstairs with an impetuous rush, flinging back every door in the hall below with a crash, and flying widely from room to room in solemn grim repose they lay, but none of them held the bright figure in rose sat in his sword. And he left them in despair and went back to her chamber again. Leo-line, Leo-line, Leo-line, he called while he rushed impetuously upstairs and downstairs, and in my lady's chamber, but Leo-line answered not, perhaps never would answer more. Even hoping against hope, he had to give up the chase at last. No Leo-line did that household, and with this conviction despairingly impressed on his mind, so Norman Kingsley covered his face with his hands and uttered a dismal groan. Yet, forlorn as was the case, he groaned, but once honed he that and nothing more. There was no time for such small luxuries as groaning and tearing his hair, and boiling over with wrath and vengeance against the human race generally, and those two diabolical specimens of it, the Earl of Rochester and Count Lytrange particularly. He plunged head-formers downstairs and out of the door. There he was impetuously brought up all standing, for somebody stood before it, gazing up at the gloomy front with as much earnestness as he had done himself, and against this individual he rushed recklessly, with a shock that nearly sent a pair of them over into the street. Sacre! cried a shrill voice in tones of indignant remonstrance. What do you mean, monsieur? Are you drunk or crazy that you come running head-formers into peaceable citizens, and throwing them heels uppermost on the King's highway? Stand off, sir, and think yourself lucky that I don't run you through with my dirt for such an insult. At the first sound of the outraged treble tones, Sir Norman had started back and glared upon the speaker with much the same expression of countenance as an incensed tiger. The orator of the spirited address had stooped to pick up his plumed cap and recover his center of gravity, which was considerably knocked out of place by the unexpected collision, and held forth with very flashing eyes, and altogether too angry to recognize his auditor. Sir Norman waited until he had done, and then, springing at him, grabbed him by the collar. You young hound, he exclaimed, fairly lifting him off his feet with one hand, and shaking me as if he would have wriggled him out of a hose and doublet. You infernal jack-and-ape! I'll run you through in less than two minutes if you don't tell me where you have taken her. The astonishment not to say consternation of Master Ubert for that small young gentleman and no other it was. On thus having his ideas thus shaken out of him, was unbounded and held him perfectly speechless, whilst Sir Norman glared at him and shook him in a way that would have instantaneously killed him if his looks were lightning. The boy had recognized his aggressor, and after his first galvanic shock, struggled like a little hero to free himself, and at last succeeded by an artful spring. Sir Norman king-slee! he cried keeping a safe yard or two of payment between him and that infuriated young knight. Have you gone mad or what? In heaven's name is the meaning of all this. It means, exclaimed Sir Norman, drawing his sword and flourishing it within an inch of the boy's curly head, that you'll be a dead page in less than half a minute unless you tell me immediately where she has been taken to. Where? Who has been taken to? Inquired Ubert, opening his bright and indignant black eyes, in a way that reminded Sir Norman forcibly of Leo Lyme. Pardon, Monsieur, I don't understand at all. You young villain, do you mean to stand up there and tell me to my face that you have not searched for her and found her and have carried her off? Why? Do you mean the lady we were talking up? That was saved from the river? Asked Ubert a new light dawning upon him. Do I mean the lady we were talking of? repeated Sir Norman with another furious flourish of his sword. Yes, I do mean the lady we were talking of, and what's more, I mean to pin you where you stand against that wall, unless you tell me instantly where she has been taken. Monsieur exclaimed the boy raising his hands. With an earnestness there was no mistaking. I do assure you upon my honor that I know nothing of the lady whatever, that I have not found her, that I have never set eyes on her since the Earl saved her from the river. The earnest tone of truth would in itself almost have convinced Sir Norman, but it was not that that made him drop his sword so suddenly. The pale, startled face, the dark, solemn eyes were so exactly like Leo Lines that they thrilled him through and through, and almost made him believe for a moment he was talking to Leo Lines herself. Are you sure you are not Leo Lines? He inquired almost convinced for an instant by the marvelous resemblance that it was really so. I positively, Sir Norman, I cannot understand this at all unless you wish to enjoy yourself at my expense. Look here, Master Ubert, said Sir Norman with a sudden change of look and tone. If you do not understand, I shall just tell you in a word or two how matters are, and then let me hear you clear yourself. You know, the lady we were talking about, that Lord Rochester picked up a float and sent you in search of— Yes, yes. Well, went on Sir Norman with a sort of grim stoicism. After leaving you, I started on a little expedition of my own, two miles from the city, from which expedition I returned ten minutes ago. When I left, the lady was secure and safe in this house. When I came back, she was gone. You were in search of her, had told me yourself you were determined on finding her and having her carried off. And now, my youthful friend, put this and that together with a momentary returning glare and see what it amounts to. It amounts to this, retorted his youthful friend stoutly, that I know nothing whatever about it. You may make out a case of strong circumstantial evidence against me, but if the lady has been carried off, I have had no hand in it. Again Sir Norman was staggered by the frank bold gaze and truthful voice, but still the string was in a tangle somewhere. And where have you been ever since? He began severely and with the air of a lawyer about to go into a ridged cross-examination. Searching for her was the prompt reply. Where? Through the streets in the pest houses and at the plague pit. How did you find out she lived here? I did not find it out. When I became convinced she was in none of the places I have mentioned, I gave up the search in despair for tonight, and was returning to his lordship to report my ill success. Why then were you standing in front of her house, gaping at it with all the ice in your head, as if it were the eight wonder of the world? Monsieur has not the most courteous way of asking questions that I ever heard of, but I have no particular objection to answer him. It struck me that as Mr Ormiston brought the lady up this way, and as I saw you and he haunting this place so much tonight, I thought her residence was somewhere here, and I paused to look at the house as I went along. In fact, I intended to ask old sleepy head over the air for further particulars before I left the neighborhood. Had not you, Sir Norman, run bolt into me and knock every idea clean out of my head? And you are sure you are not Leo-Line? said Sir Norman suspiciously. To the best of my belief, Sir Norman, I am not, replied you but reflectively. Well, it is all very strange and very aggravating, said Sir Norman, sighing and sheathing his sword. She is gone at all events, no doubt about that. And if you have not carried her off somebody else's, perhaps she has gone herself, insinuated Hubert. Bah, gone herself, said Sir Norman scornfully. The ideas beneath contend. I'll tell you, Master, fine feathers. The lady and I were to be married bright and early tomorrow morning, and leave this disgusting city for Devonshire. Do you suppose then she would run out in the small hours of the morning and go prancing about the streets or eloping with herself? Why, of course, Sir Norman. I can't take it upon myself to answer positively, but to use the mildest phrase, I must say the lady seems decidedly eccentric and capable of doing very queer things. I hope, however, you believe me, for I earnestly assure you, I never laid eyes on her but that once. I believe you, said Sir Norman, with another profound and broken-hearted sigh. And I'm only too sure she has been abducted by that consummate scoundrel and treacherous villain. Count Letranche. Count who? said Hubert with a quick start and a look of intense curiosity. What was the name? Letranche, a scoundrel of the deepest eye. Perhaps you know him? No, replied Hubert with a queer half-musing smile. No, but I have a notion I've heard the name. Was he a rival of yours? I should think so. He was to have been married to the lady this very night. He was? He? And what prevented the ceremony? She took the plague, said Sir Norman, strange to say, not at all offended at the boy's familiarity. And would have been thrown into the plague pit but for me. And when she recovered she accepted me and cast him off. A quick exchange? The lady's heart must be most flexible or unusually large to be able to hold so many at once. It never held him, said Sir Norman, frowning. She was forced into the marriage by her mercenary friends. Oh, if I had him here, wouldn't I make him wish the highwaymen had shot him through the head and done for him before I would let him go? What is he like, this Count Litange? said Hubert carelessly. Like the black-hearted traitor and villain he is, replied Sir Norman with more energy than truth. For he had caught but passing glimpses of the Count's features, and those showed him they were decidedly prepossessing. And he slinks along like a coward and an abductor as he is, in a slouched hat and shadowy cloak. Oh, if I had him here, repeated Sir Norman with vivacity. Wouldn't I? Yes, of course you would, in the post, Hubert, and serve him right too. Have you made any inquiries about the matter? For instance of our friend sleeping the sleep of the just across there? No, why? Why? It seems to me if he's been carried off before he fell asleep. He has probably heard or seen something of it, and I think it would not be a bad plan to step over and inquire. Well, we can try, said Sir Norman with a despairing face, but I know it will end in disappointment and vexation of spirit, like all the rest. With which dismal viewer thinks he crossed the street side by side with his jaunty young friend. The watchman was still enjoying the barmy and snoring in short, sharp snorts, when Master Hubert remorselessly caught him by the shoulder, and began a series of shakes and pokes and digs and hallows, while Sir Norman stood near and contemplated the scene with a pensive eye. At last, while undergoing a severe course of this treatment, the watchman was induced to open his eyes on this mortal life, and transfixed the two beholders with an intensely vacant and blank stare. Eh, he inquired helplessly. What was you a saying of, gentlemen? What is it? We weren't a saying of anything as yet, returned Hubert, but we meant too shortly. Are you quite sure you are wide awake? What do you want? was the cross-question given by way of answer. What do you come bothering me for at such a rate all night? I want to know. Keepsible friend, we wear swords, said Hubert, touching with dignity the hilt of the little dagger he carried. We only want to ask you a few questions. First, do you see that house over yonder? Oh, I see it, said the man gruffly. I am not blind. Well, who was the last person you saw come out of that house? I don't know how they was, still more gruffly. I ain't got the pleasure of their acquaintance. Did you see a young lady come out of it lately? Did I see a young lady? Burst out the watchman in a high key of aggrieved expostulation. How many more times this blessed night am I to be asked about that young lady? First and foremost, there comes two young men, which this here is one of them, and they bring out the young lady and have her hauled away in the dead cart. Then comes along another and wants to know all the particulars, and by the time he gets properly away, somebody else comes and brings her back like a drowned rat. Then all sorts of people goes in and out, and I get tired looking at them, and then fall asleep. And before I've been in that condition about a minute, you two come punching me and waking me up to ask questions about her. I wish that young lady was in Jericho, our two, said the watchman, with a smothered growl. Come, come, my man, said Ubert slapping him soothingly on the shoulder. Don't be savage if you can help it. This gentleman has a gold coin in some of his pockets, I believe, and it will fall to you if you keep quiet and answer decently. Tell me how many have been in that house since the young lady was brought back like a drowned rat? How many? said the man meditating with his eyes fixed on Sir Norman's garments, and he perceiving that immediately gave him the promised coin to refresh his memory, which it did with amazing quickness. How many? Oh, let me see. There was the young man that brought her in, and left her there, and came out again and went away. By and by he came back with another, which I think this ass gave me the money is him. After a little they came out first the other one, then this one, and went off. And the next that went in was a tall woman in black with a mask on, and right behind her there came two men. The woman in the mask came out after a while, and about ten minutes after, the two men followed, and one of them carried something in his arms, that didn't look unlike a lady with her head in her shoulder. Anything wrong, sir? As Sir Norman gave a violent start, and caught Hubert by the arm. Nothing. Where did they carry her to? What did they do with her? Go on, go on. Well, said the watchman, eyeing the speaker curiously. I'm going to. They went along down to the river, both of them, on our sore boat, show off shortly after, and that something with its head in her shoulder lying as peaceably as a lamb with one of the two beside it. That's all. I went to sleep about then, till you two were shaking me and waking me up. Sir Norman and Hubert looked at each other, one between despair and rage, the other with a thoughtful half-inquiring air, as if he had some secret to tell, and was mentally questioning whether it was safe to do so. On the whole he seemed to come to the conclusion that a silent tongue maketh a wise head, and nodded and saying, thank you to the watchman. He passed his arm through Sir Norman's, and drew him back to the door of Leoline's house. There is a light within, he said, looking up at it. How comes that? I found the lamp burning when I returned, and everything undisturbed. They must have entered noiselessly and carried her off without a struggle, replied Sir Norman, with a sort of groan. Have you searched the house? Search it well. Thoroughly, from top to bottom. It seems to me there ought to be some trace. Will you come back with me and look again? It is no use, but there is nothing else I can do, so come along. They entered the house, and Sir Norman led the page direct to Leoline's room, where the light was. I left her here when I went away, and here the lamp was burning when I came back, so it must have been from this room she was taken. Hubert was gazing slowly and critically round, taking note of everything. Something glistened and flashed on the floor under the mantle, and he went over and picked it up. What have you there? asks Sir Norman in surprise, but the boy had started so suddenly, and flushed so violently, that it might have astonished anyone. Only a shoe buckle, a gentleman's, do you recognize it? Though he spoke in his usual careless way, and half hummed the air of one of Lord Rochester's love songs, he watched him keenly as he examined it. It was a diamond buckle, exquisitely set, and of great beauty and value, but Sir Norman knew nothing of it. There are initials upon it. See there? said Hubert, pointing, and still watching him with the same power for glance. The letters C, S, that can't stand for Count L'étrange, who then can it stand for, inquires Sir Norman, looking at him fixedly, and with far more penetration than the court page had given him credit for. I'm certain you know. I suspect, said the boy emphatically, nothing more, and if it is as I believe, I will bring you news of Leoline before you are two hours older. How am I to know you're not deceiving me, and will not betray her into the power of the Earl of Rochester, if indeed she be not in his power already? She is not in it, and never will be through me. I feel an odd interest in this matter, and I will be true to you, Sir Norman. Though why I should be, I really don't know. I give you my word of honor that I will do what I can to find Leoline and restore her to you, and I have never yet broken my word of honor to any man, said you, but drawing himself up. Well, I will trust you because I cannot do anything better, said Sir Norman rather dolefully. But why not let me go with you? No, no, that would never do. I must go alone, and you must trust me implicitly. Give me your hand upon it. They shook hands silently, went downstairs, and stood for a moment at the door. You'll find me here at any hour between this and morning, said Sir Norman, for well now, and heaven speed you. The boy waved his hand in adieu, and started off at a sharp pace. Sir Norman turned in the opposite direction for a short walk to cool the fever in his blood, and think over all that had happened. As he went slowly long in the shadow of the houses, he suddenly tripped up over something lying in his path, and was nearly precipitated over it. Stooping down to examine the stumbling block, it proved to be the rigid body of a man, and that man was Ormiston, stark and dead, with his face upturned to the calm night sky. CHAPTER XVII. THE HIDDEN FACE When Mr. Malcolm Ormiston, with his usual good sense and penetration, took himself off and left Leolene and Sir Norman tete-tete, his steps turned as mechanically as the needle to the North Pole, toward the masque's house. Before it he wandered, around it he wandered, like an uneasy ghost, lost in speculation about the hidden face, and fearfully impatient about the flight of time. If Lemasque saw him hovering aloof and unable to tear himself away, perhaps it might touch her obdurate heart, and cause her to shorten the dreary interval, and summon him to her presence at once. Just then someone opened the door, and his heart began to beat with anticipation. Someone pronounced his name, and going over he saw the animated bag of bones, otherwise his lady loves vassal and porter. Lemasque says, began the attenuated lackey, and Ormiston's heart nearly jumped out of his mouth, that she can't have anybody hanging about her house like its shadow, and she wants you to go away and keep away till the time comes, she has mentioned. So saying, the skeleton shut the door, and Ormiston's heart went down to zero. There being nothing for it but obedience, however, he slowly and reluctantly turned away, feeling in his bones that, if he ever came to the bliss and ecstasy of calling Lemasque Mrs. Ormiston, the gray mare in his stable would be, by long odds, the better horse. Unintentionally his steps turned to the waterside, and he descended the flight of stairs, determined to get into a boat, and watch the illumination from the river. Late as was the hour, the Thames seemed alive, with fairies and barges, and their numerous lights danced along the surface, like fireflies, over a marsh. A gay barge, gilded and cushioned, was going slowly past, and as he stood directly into the lamp, he was recognized by a gentleman within it, who leaned over and hailed him. Ormiston! I say Ormiston! Well, my lord, said Ormiston, recognizing the handsome face and animated voice of the Earl of Rochester. Have you any engagement for the next half hour? If not, do me the favor to take a seat here, and watch London and Flames from the river. With all my heart, said Ormiston, running down to the waters edge and leaping into the boat. With all this bustle of life around here, one would think it were noonday instead of midnight. The whole city is a stir about these fires. Have you any idea they will be successful? Not the least. You know, my lord, the prediction runs that the plague will rage till the living are no longer able to bury the dead. It will soon come to that, said the Earl, shuttering slightly, if it continues increasing much longer, as it does now daily. How do the bills of mortality run today? I've not heard. Hark! There goes St. Paul's tolling twelve. And there goes a flash of fire, the first among many. Look, look, how they spring up into the black darkness. They will not do it long. Look at the sky, my lord. The Earl glanced up at the midnight sky of a dull and dingy red color, except where black and heavy clouds were heaving like angry billows, all dingy with smoke, and streaked with bars of fiery red. I see there is a storm coming and a heavy one. Our worthy burgers and most worshipful Lord Mayor will see their fires extinguished shortly and themselves sent home with wet jackets. And for weeks, almost a month, there has not fallen a drop of rain, remarked Armistine Grabley. A remarkable coincidence truly. There seems to be a fatality hanging over this devoted city. I wonder your lordship remains. The Earl shrugged his shoulders significantly. It is not so easy leaving it as you think, Mr. Armistine, but I am to turn my back to it tomorrow for a brief period. You are aware, I suppose, that the court leaves before daybreak for Oxford? I believe I have heard something of it. How long to remain? Till Charles takes it into his head to come back again, said the Earl, familiarly, which will probably be in a week or two. Look at that sky, all black and scarlet, and look at those people. I scarcely thought there were half the number left alive in London. Even the sick have come out tonight, said Armistine. Half the pest stricken in the city have left their beds full of newborn hope. One would think it were a carnival. So it is, a carnival of death. I hope Armistine said the Earl looking at him with a light laugh. The pretty little white fairy we rescued from the river is not one of the sick parading the streets. Armistine looked grave. No, my lord, I think she is not. I left her safe and secure. Who is she, Armistine, coaxed the Earl, laughingly? Pasha, man, don't make a mountain out of a molehill. Tell me your name. Her name is Leolene. What else? That is just what I would like to have someone tell me. I give you my honor, lord, I do not know. The Earl's face, half indignant, half incredulous, holy curious, made Armistine smile. It is a fact, my lord. I asked her her name, and she told me, Leolene, a pretty title enough, but rather unsatisfactory. How long have you known her? To the best of my belief, said Armistine musingly, about four hours. Nonsense, cried the Earl energetically. What are you telling me, Armistine? You said she was an old friend. I beg your pardon, my lord. I said no such thing. I told you she had escaped from her friends, which was strictly true. Then how the demon had you, the impudence, to come up and carry her off in that style. I certainly had a better right to her than you, the right of discovery, and I shall call upon you to deliver her up. If she belonged to me, I should only be too happy to oblige your lordship, laughed Armistine. But she is at present the property of Sir Norman Kingsley, and to him you must apply. Ah, his enamorata is she? Well, I must say his taste is excellent, but I should think you ought to know her name since you and he are noted for being a modern daemon in Pythias. Probably I should, my lord, only Sir Norman, unfortunately, does not know himself. The Earl's countenance looks so utterly blank at this announcement that Armistine was forced to throw in a word of explanation. I mean to say, my lord, that he has fallen in love with her, and judging from appearances, I should say his flame is not altogether hopeless, although they have met tonight for the first time. A rapid passion. Where have you left her, Armistine? In her own house, my lord, Armistine replied, smiling quietly to himself. Where is that? About a dozen yards from where I stood when you called me. Who are her family, continued the Earl, who seemed possessed of a devouring curiosity. She has none that I know of. I imagine Mistress Laylene is an orphan. I know there was not a living soul but ourselves in the house I brought her to. And you left her there alone, explained the Earl, half-starting up as if about to order the boatman to row back to the landing. Armistine looked at his excited face with a glance full of quiet malice. No, my lord, not quite. Sir Norman Kingsley was with her. Oh, said the Earl, smiling back with a look of chagrin. Then he will probably find out her name before he comes away. I wonder you could give her up so easily to him after all your trouble. Smitten, my lord, inquired Armistine maliciously. Hopelessly replied the Earl with a deep sigh. She was a perfect little beauty. And if I can find her, I warn Sir Norman Kingsley to take care. I have already sent Hubert out in search of her. And, by the way, said the Earl with a sudden increase of animation. What a wonderful resemblance she bears to Hubert. I could almost swear they were one and the same. The likeness is marvelous. But I should hate to take such an oath. I confess, I am somewhat curious myself. But I stand no chance of having it gratified before tomorrow, I suppose. How those fires blaze. It is much brighter than at noonday. Show me the house in which Laylene lies. Armistine easily pointed it out and showed the Earl the light still burning in her window. It was in that room we found her first, dead of the plague. Dead of the what? Cried the Earl aghast. Dead of the plague. I'll tell your lordship how it was, said Armistine, who, forthwith, commended and related the story of their finding Laylene, of the resuscitation at the plague pit, of the flight from Sir Norman's house, and of the delirious plunge into the river and miraculous cure. Marvelous story commented the Earl much interested. And Laylene seems to have as many lives as a cat. Who can she be? A princess in disguise? A. Armistine? She looks fit to be a princess or anything else, but your lordship knows as much about her now as I do. You say she was dressed as a bride? How came that? Simply enough, she was to be married tonight had she not taken the plague instead. Married? Why, I thought you told me a few minutes ago she was in love with Kingsley. It seems to me, Mr. Armistine, your remarks are a trifle inconsistent, said the Earl, in a tone of astonish displeasure. Nevertheless, they are all perfectly true. Mistress Laylene was to be married, as I told you, but she was to marry to please her friends and not herself. She had been in the habit of watching Kingsley go past her window, and the way she blushed and the way she went through other little motions convinces me that his course of true love will run as smoothly as this classy river runs at present. Kingsley is a lucky fellow. Will the discarded suitor have no voice in the matter, or is he such a simpleton as to give her up at a word? Armistine laughed. Ah, to be sure, what will the Count say? And, judging from some things I've heard, I should say he is violently in love with her. Count who? asked Rochester, or has he, like his lady love, no other name. Oh, no, the name of the gentleman who was so nearly blessed for life and missed it is Count L'étrange. The Earl had been lying listlessly back, only half intent upon his answer, as he watched the fire, but now he sprang sharply up and stared Armistine full in the face. Count, what did you say was the eager question, while his eyes more eager than his voice stroked to read the reply before it was repeated? Count L'étrange, you know him, my lord, said Armistine quietly? Ah, said the Earl, and then such a strange, meaning smile went wandering about his face. I have not said that, so his name is Count L'étrange. Well, I don't wonder now at the girl's beauty. The Earl sank back to his former nonchalant position and fell for a moment or two into deep musing, and then, as if the whole thing struck him in a new and ludicrous light, he broke out into an in-moderate bit of laughter. Armistine looked at him curiously. It is my turn to ask questions now, my lord. Who is Count L'étrange? I know of no such person, Armistine. I was thinking of something else. Was it Leolene who told you that was her lover's name? No. I heard it by mere accident from another person. I am sure if Leolene is not a personage in disguise, he is. And why do you think so? And inward conviction, my lord, so you will not tell me who he is. Have I not told you I know of no such person as Count L'étrange? You ought to believe me. Oh, here it comes. This last was addressed to a great drop of rain which splashed heavily on his upturned face, followed by another and another in quick succession. The storm is upon us of the Earl sitting up and wrapping his cloak closer around him. And I am for Whitehall. Shall we land you, Armistine, or take you there too? I must land, said Armistine. I have a pressing engagement for the next half hour. Here it is in a perfect deluge. The fires will be out in five minutes. The barge touched the stairs and Armistine sprang out with good night to the Earl. The rain was rushing along now in torrents, and he ran upstairs undarted into an archway of the bridge to seek the shelter. Someone else had come there before him in search of the same thing, for he saw two dark figures standing within it as he entered. A sudden storm was Armistine's salutation and a furious one. There go the fires, hiss and splutter. I knew how it would be. Then Saul and Mr. Armistine are among the prophets. Armistine had heard that voice before. It was associated in his mind with a slouched hat and a shadowy cloak, and by the fast-fading flicker of the firelight he saw that both were here. The speaker, one count le tranche, the figure beside him slender and boyish, was unknown. You have the advantage of me, sir, he said, affecting ignorance. May I ask who you are? Certainly a gentleman by courtesy and the grace of God. And your name? Count le tranche at your service. Armistine lifted his cap and bowed with a feeling somehow that the count was a man in authority. Mr. Armistine assisted in doing a good deed tonight for a friend of mine, said the count. Will he add to that obligation by telling me if he has not discovered her again and brought her back? Do you refer to the fair lady in Yonder House? So, she is there? I thought so. George said the count, addressing himself to his companion. Yes, I refer to her, the lady you saved from the river. You brought her there? I brought her there, replied Armistine. She is there still? I presume so. I have heard nothing to the contrary. And alone? She may be now. Sir Norman Kingsley was with her when I left her, said Armistine, administering the fact with infinite relish. There was a moment's silence. Armistine could not see the count's face, but judging from his own feelings, he fancied if expression must be sweet. The wild rush of the storm alone broke the silence until the spirit again moved the count to speak. By what right does Sir Norman Kingsley visit her, he inquired in a voice betokening not the least particle of emotion. By the best of rights, that of her preserver, hoping soon to be her lover. There was another brief silence broken again by the count in the same composed tone. Since the lady holds her levee so late, I too must have a word with her, when this deluge permits one to go abroad without danger of drowning. It shown symptoms of clearing off already, said Armistine, who in his secret heart thought it would be an excellent joke to bring the rivals face to face in the lady's presence. So you will not have to wait long. To which observation the count replied not, and the three stood in silence watching the fury of the storm. Gradually it cleared away, and as the moon began to strangle out between the rifts and the clouds, the kale saw something by her pale light that Armistine saw not. That latter gentleman, standing with his back to the house of Leilene, and his face toward that of La Masque, did not observe the return of Sir Norman from St. Paul's, nor look after him as he rode away. But the count did both. And ten minutes after, when the rain had entirely ceased and the moon and stars got the better of the clouds in their struggle for supremacy, he beheld La Masque flitting like a dark shadow in the same direction and vanishing in at Leilene's door. The same instant Armistine started to go. The storm has entirely ceased, he said, stepping out, and with the profound air of one making a new discovery, and we are likely to have fine weather for the remainder of the night, or rather morning. Good night, count. Farewell said the count, as he and his companion came out from the shadow of the archway and turned to follow La Masque. Armistine, thinking the hour of waiting had elapsed and feeling much more interested in the coming meeting than in Leilene and her visitors, paid very little attention to his two acquaintances. He saw them, it is true, enter Leilene's house, but at the same instant he took up his post at La Masque's doorway and concentrated his whole attention on that piece of architecture. Every moment seemed like a week now, and before he had stood at his post five minutes, he had worked himself up into a perfect fever of impatience. Sometimes he was inclined to knock and seek La Masque in her own home, but, as often, the fear of a chilling rebuke paralyzed his hand when he raised it. He was so sure she was within the house that he never thought of looking for her elsewhere, and when, at the expiration of what seemed to him a century or two, but which in reality was about a quarter of an hour, there was a soft rustling of drapery behind him, and the sweetest of voices sounded in his ear. It fairly made him bound. Here again, Mr. Armistine, is this the fifth or the sixth time I've found you in this place tonight? La Masque, he cried between joy and surprise, but surely I was not totally unexpected this time. Perhaps not. You are waiting here for me to redeem my promise, I suppose? Can you doubt it? Since I knew you first, I have desired this hour as the blind desire sight, and you will find it as sweet to look back upon as you have to look forward to, said La Masque durisively. If you are wise for yourself, Mr. Armistine, you will pause here and give me back that fatal word. Never, madame, and surely you will not be so piteously cruel as to draw back now? No, I have promised, and I shall perform, and let the consequences be what they may. They will rest upon your own head. You have been warned, and you still insist. I still insist. Then let us move farther over there into the shadow of the houses. This moonlight is so dreadfully bright. They moved on into the deep shadow, and there was a pulse throbbing in Armistine's head and heart, like the beating of a muffled drum. They paused and faced each other silently. Quick, madame, cried Armistine, hoarsely his whole face flushed wildly. His strange companion lifted her hand as if to remove the mask, and he saw that it shook like an aspen. She made one motion as though about to lift it, and then recoiled as if from herself in a sort of horror. My God, what is this man urging me to do? How can I ever fulfill that fatal promise? Madame, you torture me, said Armistine, whose face showed what he felt. You must keep your promise. So do not drive me wild, waiting. Let me. He took a step toward her as to lift the mask himself, but she held out both arms to keep him off. No, no, no. Come not near me, Malcolm Armistine. Fated man, since you will rush on your doom, look and let the sight blast you if it will. She unfastened her mask, raised it, and with it the profusion of long, sweeping black hair. Armistine did look in much the same way, perhaps that Zulinka looked at the veiled prophet. The next moment there was a terrible cry, and he fell headlong with a crash, as if a bullet had whined through his heart. End of chapter 17.