Books: The Midnight Queen
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May Agnes Fleming >> The Midnight Queen
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"I left her here when I went away, and here the lamp was burning
when I came back: so it must have been from this room she was
taken."
Hubert was gazing slowly and critically round, taking note of
everything. Something glistened and flashed on the floor, under
the mantel, and he went over and picked it up.
"What have you there?" asked Sir Norman in surprise; for the boy
had started so suddenly, and flushed so violently, that it might
have astonished any one.
"Only a shoe-buckle - a gentleman's - do you recognize it?"
Though he spoke in his usual careless way, and half-hummed the
air of one of Lord Rochester's love songs, he watched him keenly
as he examined it. It was a diamond buckle, exquisitely set, and
of great beauty and value; but Sir Norman knew nothing of it.
"There are initials upon it -see there!" said Hubert, pointing,
and still watching him with the same powerful glance. "The
letters C. S. That can't stand for Count L'Estrange."
"Who then can it stand for?" inquired Sir Norman, looking at him
fixedly, and with far more penetration than the court page had
given him credit for. "I am certain you know."
"I suspect!" said the boy, emphatically, "nothing more; and if it
is as I believe, I will bring you news of Leoline before you are
two hours older."
"How am I to know you are not deceiving me, and will not betray
her into the power of the Earl of Rochester - if, indeed, she be
not in his power already."
"She is not in it, and never will be through me! I feel an odd
interest in this matter, and I will be true to you, Sir Norman -
though why I should be, I really don't know. I give you my word
of honor that I will do what I can to find Leoline and restore
her to you; and I have never yet broken my word of honor to any
man," said Hubert, drawing himself up.
"Well, I will trust you, because I cannot do anything better,"
said Sir Norman, rather dolefully; "but why not let me go with
you?"
"No, no! that would never do! I must go alone, and you must
trust me implicitly. Give me your hand upon it."
They shook hands silently, went down stairs, and stood for a
moment at the door.
"You'll find me here at any hour between this and morning," said
Sir Norman. "Farewell now, and Heaven speed you!"
The boy waved his hand in adieu, and started off at a sharp pace.
Sir Norman turned in the opposite direction for a short walk, to
cool the fever in his blood, and think over all that had
happened. As be went slowly along, in the shadow of the houses,
he suddenly tripped up over something lying in his path, and was
nearly precipitated over it.
Stooping down to examine the stumbling-block, it proved to be the
rigid body of a man, and that man was Ormiston, stark and dead,
with his face upturned to the calm night-sky.
CHAPTER XVII
THE HIDDEN FACE
When Mr. Malcolm Ormiston, with his usual good sense and
penetration, took himself off, and left Leoline and Sir Norman
tete-a-tete, his steps turned as mechanically as the needle to
the North Pole toward La Masque's house. Before it he wandered,
around it he wandered, like an uneasy ghost, lost in speculation
about the hidden face, and fearfully impatient about the flight
of time. If La Masque saw him hovering aloof and unable to tear
himself away, perhaps it might touch her obdurate heart, and
cause her to shorten the dreary interval, and summon him to her
presence at once. Just then some one opened the door, and his
heart began to beat with anticipation; some one pronounced his
name, and, going over, he saw the animated bag of bones -
otherwise his lady-love's vassal and porter.
"La Masque says," began the attenuated lackey, and Ormiston's
heart nearly jumped out of his mouth, "that she can't have
anybody hanging about her house like its shadow; and she wants
you to go away, and keep away, till the time comes she has
mentioned."
So saying the skeleton shut the door, and Ormiston's heart went
down to zero. There being nothing for it but obedience, however,
he slowly and reluctantly turned away, feeling in his bones, that
if ever he came to the bliss and ecstasy of calling La Masque
Mrs. Ormiston, the gray mare in his stable would be by long odds
the better horse. Unintentionally his steps turned to the
water-side, and he descended the flight of stairs, determined to
get into a boat and watch the illumination from the river.
Late as was the hour, the Thames seemed alive with wherries and
barges, and their numerous lights danced along the surface like
fire-flies over a marsh. A gay barge, gilded and cushioned, was
going slowly past; and as he stood directly under the lamp, he
was recognized by a gentleman within it, who leaned over and
hailed him
"Ormiston! I say, Ormiston!"
"Well, my lord," said Ormiston, recognizing the handsome face and
animated voice of the Earl of Rochester.
"Have you any engagement for the next half-hour? If not, do me
the favor to take a seat here, and watch London in flames from
the river."
"With all my heart," said Ormiston, running down to the water's
edge, and leaping into the boat. "With all this bustle of life
around here, one would think it were noonday instead of
midnight."
"The whole city is astir about these fires. Have you any idea
they will be successful?"
"Not the least. You know, my lord, the prediction runs, that the
plague will rage till the living are no longer able to bury the
dead."
"It will soon come to that," said the earl shuddering slightly,
"if it continues increasing much longer as it does now daily.
How do the bills of mortality ran to-day?"
"I have not heard. Hark! There goes St. Paul's tolling twelve."
"And there goes a flash of fire - the first among many. Look,
look! How they spring up into the black darkness."
"They will not do it long. Look at the sky, my lord."
The earl glanced up at the midnight sky, of a dull and dingy red
color, except where black and heavy clouds were heaving like
angry billows, all dingy with smoke and streaked with bars of
fiery red.
"I see! There is a storm coming, and a heavy one! Our worthy
burghers and most worshipful Lord Mayor will see their fires
extinguished shortly, and themselves sent home with wet jackets."
"And for weeks, almost month, there has not fallen a drop of
rain," remarked Ormiston, gravely.
"A remarkable coincidence, truly. There seems to be a fatality
hanging over this devoted city."
"I wonder your lordship remains?"
The earl shrugged his shoulders significantly.
"It is not so easy leaving it as you think, Mr. Ormiston; but I
am to turn my back to it to-morrow for a brief period. You are
aware, I suppose, that the court leaves before daybreak for
Oxford."
"I believe I have heard something of it - how long to remain?"
"Till Charles takes it into his head to come back again," said
the earl, familiarly, "which will probably be in a week or two.
Look at that sky, all black and scarlet; and look at those people
- I scarcely thought there were half the number left alive in
London."
"Even the sick have come out to-night," said Ormiston. "Half the
pest-stricken in the city have left their beds, full of newborn
hope. One would think it were a carnival."
"So it is - a carnival of death! I hope, Ormiston," said the
earl, looking at him with a light laugh, "the pretty little white
fairy we rescued from the river is not one of the sick parading
the streets."
Ormiston looked grave.
"No, my lord, I think she is not. I left her safe and secure."
"Who is she, Ormiston?" coaxed the earl, laughingly. "Pshaw,
man! don't make a mountain out of a mole-hill! Tell me her
name!"
"Her name is Leoline."
"What else?"
"That is just what I would like to have some one tell me. I give
you my honor, my lord, I do not know."
The earl's face, half indignant, half incredulous, wholly
curious, made Ormiston smile.
"It is a fact, my lord. I asked her her name, and she told me
Leoline - a pretty title enough, but rather unsatisfactory."
"How long have you known her?"
"To the best of my belief," said Ormiston, musingly, "about four
hours."
"Nonsense!" cried the earl, energetically. "What are you telling
me, Ormiston? You said she was an old friend."
"I beg your pardon, my lord, I said no such thing. I told you
she had escaped from her friends, which was strictly true."
"Then how the demon had you the impudence to come up and carry
her off in that style? I certainly had a better right to her
than you - the right of discovery; and I shall call upon you to
deliver her up!"
"If she belonged to me I should only be too happy to oblige your
lordship," laughed Ormiston; "but she is at present the property
of Sir Norman Kingsley, and to him you must apply."
"Ah! His inamorata, in she? Well, I must say his taste is
excellent; but I should think you ought to know her name, since
you and he are noted for being a modern Damon and Pythias."
"Probably I should, my lord, only Sir Norman, unfortunately, does
not know himself."
The earl's countenance looked so utterly blank at this
announcement, that Ormiston was forced to throw in a word of
explanation.
"I mean to say, my lord, that he has fallen in love with her;
and, judging from appearances, I should say his flame is not
altogether hopeless, although they have met to-night for the
first time."
"A rapid passion. Where have you left her, Ormiston?"
"In her own house, my lord," Ormiston replied, smiling quietly to
himself.
"Where is that?"
"About a dozen yards from where I stood when you called me."
"Who are her family?" continued the earl, who seemed possessed of
a devouring curiosity.
"She has none that I know of. I imagine Mistress Leoline is an
orphan. I know there was not a living soul but ourselves in the
house I brought her to."
"And you left her there alone?" exclaimed the earl, half starting
up, an if about to order the boatman to row back to the landing.
Ormiston looked at his excited face with a glance full of quiet
malice.
"No, my lord, not quits; Sir Norman Kingsley was with her!"
"Oh!" said the earl, smiling back with a look of chagrin. "Then
he will probably find out her name before he comes away. I
wonder you could give her up so easily to him, after all your
trouble!"
"Smitten, my lord?" inquired Ormiston, maliciously.
"Hopelessly!" replied the earl, with a deep sigh. "She was a
perfect little beauty; and if I can find her, I warn Sir Norman
Kingsley to take care! I have already sent Hubert out in search
of her; and, by the way," said the earl, with a sudden increase
of animation, "what a wonderful resemblance she bears to Hubert -
I could almost swear they were one and the same!"
"The likeness is marvelous; but I should hate to take such an
oath. I confess I am somewhat curious myself; but I stand no
chance of having it gratified before to-morrow, I suppose."
"How those fires blaze! It is much brighter than at noon-day.
Show me the house in which Leoline lies?".
Ormiston easily pointed it out, and showed the earl the light
still burning in her window.
"It was in that room we found her first, dead of the plague!"
"Dead of the what?" cried the earl, aghast.
"Dead of the plague! I'll tell your lordship how it was," said
Ormiston, who forthwith commend and related the story of their
finding Leoline; of the resuscitation at the plague-pit; of the
flight from Sir Norman's house, and of the delirious plunge into
the river, and miraculous cure.
"A marvelous story," commented the earl, much interested. "And
Leoline seems to have as many lives as a cat! Who can she be - a
princess in disguise - eh, Ormiston?"
"She looks fit to be a princess, or anything else; but your
lordship knows as much about her, now, as I do."
"You say she was dressed as a bride - how came that?"
"Simply enough. She was to be married to-night, had she not
taken the plague instead."
"Married? Why, I thought you told me a few minutes ago she was
in love with Kingsley. It seems to me, Mr. Ormiston, your
remarks are a trifle inconsistent," said the earl, in a tone of
astonished displeasure.
"Nevertheless, they are all perfectly true. Mistress Leoline was
to be married, as I told you; but she was to marry to please her
friends, and not herself. She had been in the habit of watching
Kingsley go past her window; and the way she blushed, and went
through the other little motions, convinces me that his course of
true love will ran as smooth as this glassy river runs at
present."
"Kingsley is a lucky fellow. Will the discarded suitor have no
voice in the matter; or is he such a simpleton as to give her up
at a word?"
Ormiston laughed.
"Ah! to be sure; what will the count say? And, judging from some
things I've heard, I should say he is violently in love with
her."
"Count who?" asked Rochester. "Or has he, like his ladylove, no
other name?"
"Oh, no! The name of the gentleman who was so nearly blessed for
life, and missed it, is Count L'Estrange!"
The earl had been lying listlessly back, only half intent upon
his answer, as he watched the fire; but now he sprang sharply up,
and stared Ormiston full in the face.
"Count what did you say?" was his eager question, while his eyes,
more eager than his voice, strove to read the reply before it was
repeated.
"Count L'Estrange. You know him, my lord?" said Ormiston,
quietly.
"Ah!" said the earl. And then such a strange meaning smile went
wandering about his face. "I have not said that! So his name is
Count L'Estrange? Well, I don't wonder now at the girl's
beauty."
The earl sank back to his former nonchalant position and fell for
a moment or two into deep musing; and then, as if the whole thing
struck him in a new and ludicrous light, he broke out into an
immoderate fit of laughter. Ormiston looked at him curiously.
"It is my turn to ask questions, now, my lord. Who is Count
L'Estrange?"
"I know of no such person, Ormiston. I was thinking of something
else! Was it Leoline who told you that was her lover's name?"
No; I heard it by mere accident from another person. I am sure,
if Leoline is not a personage in disguise, he is."
"And why do you think so?"
"An inward conviction, my lord. So you will not tell me who he
is?"
"Have I not told you I know of no such person as Count
L'Estrange? You ought to believe me. Oh, here it comes."
This last was addressed to a great drop of rain, which splashed
heavily on his upturned face, followed by another and another in
quick succession.
"The storm is upon us," said the earl, sitting up and wrapping
his cloak closer around him, "and I am for Whitehall. Shall we
land you, Ormiston, or take you there, too?"
"I must land," said Ormiston. "I have a pressing engagement for
the next half-hour. Here it is, in a perfect deluge; the fires
will be out in five minutes."
The barge touched the stairs, and Ormiston sprang out, with
"Good-night" to the earl. The rain was rushing along, now, in
torrents, and he ran upstairs and darted into an archway of the
bridge, to seek the shelter. Some one else had come there before
him, in search of the same thing; for he saw two dark figures
standing within it as he entered.
"A sudden storm," was Ormiston's salutation, "and a furious one.
There go the fires - hiss and splutter. I knew how it would be."
"Then Saul and Mr. Ormiston are among the prophets?"
Ormiston had heard that voice before; it was associated in his
mind with a slouched hat and shadowy cloak; and by the fast-
fading flicker of the firelight, he saw that both were here. The
speaker wan Count L'Estrange; the figure beside him, slender and
boyish, was unknown.
"You have the advantage of me, sir," he said affecting ignorance.
"May I ask who you are?"
"Certainly. A gentlemen, by courtesy and the grace of God."
"And your name?"
"Count L'Estrange, at your service."
Ormiston lifted his cap and bowed, with a feeling somehow, that
the count was a man in authority.
"Mr. Ormiston assisted in doing a good deed, tonight, for a
friend of mine," said the count.
"Will he add to that obligation by telling me if he has not
discovered her again, and brought her back?"
"Do you refer to the fair lady in yonder house?"
"So she is there? I thought so, George," said the count,
addressing himself to his companion. "Yes, I refer to her, the
lady you saved from the river. You brought her there?"
"I brought her there," replied Ormiston.
"She is there still?"
"I presume so. I have heard nothing to the contrary."
"And alone?"
"She may be, now. Sir Norman Kingsley was with her when I left
her," said Ormiston, administering the fact with infinite relish.
There was a moment's silence. Ormiston could not see the count's
face; but, judging from his own feelings, he fancied its
expression must be sweet. The wild rush of the storm alone broke
the silence, until the spirit again moved the count to speak.
"By what right does Sir Norman Kingsley visit her?" he inquired,
in a voice betokening not the least particle of emotion.
"By the best of rights - that of her preserver, hoping soon to be
her lover."
There was an other brief silence, broken again by the count, in
the same composed tone:
"Since the lady holds her levee so late, I, too, must have a word
with her, when this deluge permits one to go abroad without
danger of drowning."
"It shown symptoms of clearing off, already," said Ormiston, who,
in his secret heart, thought it would be an excellent joke to
bring the rivals face to face in the lady's presence; "so you
will not have long to wait."
To which observation the count replied not; and the three stood
in silence, watching the fury of the storm.
Gradually it cleared away; and as the moon began to straggle out
between the rifts in the clouds, the count saw something by her
pale light that Ormiston saw not. That latter gentleman,
standing with his back to the house of Leoline, and his face
toward that of 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 Leoline's door. The same instant, Ormiston started to go.
"The storm has entirely ceased," he said, stepping out, and with
the profound air of one making a new discovery, "and we are
likely to have fine weather for the remainder of the night - or
rather, morning. Good night, count."
"Farewell," said the count, as he and, his companion came out
from the shadow of the archway, and turned to follow La Masque.
Ormiston, thinking the hour of waiting had elapsed, and feeling
much more interested in the coming meeting than in Leoline or her
visitors, paid very little attention to his two acquaintances.
He saw them, it is true, enter Leoline's house, but at the same
instant, he took up his post at La Masque's doorway, and
concentrated his whole attention on that piece of architecture.
Every moment seemed like a week now; and before he had stood at
his post five minutes, he had worked himself up into a perfect
fever of impatience. Sometimes he was inclined to knock and seek
La Masque in her own home; but as often the fear of a chilling
rebuke paralyzed his hand when he raised it. He was so sure she
was within the house, that he never thought of looking for her
elsewhere; and when, at the expiration of what seemed to him a
century or two, but which in reality was about a quarter of an
hour, there was a soft rustling of drapery behind him, and the
sweetest of voices sounded in his ear, it fairly made him bound.
"Here again, Mr. Ormiston? Is this the fifth or sixth time I've
found you in this place to-night?"
"La Masque!" he cried, between joy and surprise. "But surely, I
was not totally unexpected this time?"
"Perhaps not. You are waiting here for me to redeem my promise,
I suppose?"
"Can you doubt it? Since I knew you first, I have desired this
hour as the blind desire sight."
"Ah! And you will find it as sweet to look back upon as you have
to look forward to," said La Masque, derisively. "If you are
wise for yourself, Mr. Ormiston, you will pause here, and give me
back that fatal word."
"Never, madame! And surely you will not be so pitilessly cruel
as to draw back, now?"
"No, I have promised, and I shall perform; and let the
consequences be what they may, they will rest upon your own head.
You have been warned, and you still insist."
"I still insist!"
"Then let us move farther over here into the shadow of the houses;
this moonlight is so dreadfully bright!"
They moved on into the deep shadow, and there was a pulse
throbbing in Ormiston's head and heart like the beating of a
muffed drum. They paused and faced each other silently.
"Quick, madame!" cried Ormiston, hoarsely, his whole face flushed
wildly.
His strange companion lifted her hand as if to remove the mask,
and he saw that it shook like an aspen. She made one motion as
though about to lift it, and then recoiled, as if from herself,
in a sort of horror.
"My God! What is this man urging me to do? How can I ever
fulfill that fatal promise?"
"Madame, you torture me!" said Ormiston, whose face showed what
he felt. "You must keep your promise; so do not drive me wild
waiting. Let me - "
He took a step toward her, as if to lift the mask himself, but
she held out both arms to keep him off.
"No, no, no! Come not near me, Malcolm Ormiston! Fated man,
since you will rush on your doom, Look! and let the sight blast
you, if it will!"
She unfastened her mask, raised it, and with it the profusion of
long, sweeping black hair.
Ormiston did look - in much the same way, perhaps, that Zulinka
looked at the Veiled Prophet. The next moment there was a
terrible cry, and he fell headlong with a crash, as if a bullet
had whined through his hart.
CHAPTER XVII.
THE INTERVIEW.
I am not aware whether fainting was as much the fashion among the
fair sex, in the days (or rather the nights) of which I have the
honor to hold forth, as at the present time; but I am inclined to
think not, from the simple fact that Leoline, though like John
Bunyan, "grievously troubled and tossed about in her mind," did
nothing of the kind. For the first few moments, she was
altogether too stunned by the suddenness of the shock to cry out
or make the least resistance, and was conscious of nothing but of
being rapidly borne along in somebody's arms. When this hazy
view of things passed away, her new sensation was, the intensely
uncomfortable one of being on the verge of suffocation. She made
one frantic but futile effort to free herself and scream for
help, but the strong arms held her with most loving tightness,
and her cry was drowned in the hot atmosphere within the shawl,
and never passed beyond it. Most assuredly Leoline would have
been smothered then and there, had their journey been much
longer; but, fortunately for her, it was only the few yards
between her house and the river. She knew she was then carried
down some steps, and she heard the dip of the oars in the water,
and then her bearer paused, and went through a short dialogue
with somebody else - with Count L'Estrange, she rather felt than
knew, for nothing was audible but a low murmur. The only word
she could make out was a low, emphatic "Remember!" in the count's
voice, and then she knew she was in a boat, and that it was
shoved off, and moving down the rapid river. The feeling of heat
and suffocation was dreadful and as her abductor placed her on
some cushions, she made another desperate but feeble effort to
free herself from the smothering shawl, but a hand was laid
lightly on hers, and a voice interposed.
"Lady, it is quite useless for you to struggle, as you are
irrevocably in my power, but if you will promise faithfully not
to make any outcry, and will submit to be blindfolded, I shall
remove this oppressive muffling from your head. Tell me if you
will promise."
He had partly raised the shawl, and a gush of free air came
revivingly in, and enabled Leoline to gasp out a faint "I
promise!" As she spoke, it was lifted off altogether, and she
caught one bright fleeting glimpse of the river, sparkling and
silvery in the moonlight; of the bright blue sky, gemmed with
countless stars, and of some one by her side in the dress of a
court-page, whose face was perfectly unknown to her. The next
instant, a bandage was bound tightly over her eyes, excluding
every ray of light, while the strange voice again spoke
apologetically
"Pardon, lady, but it is my orders! I am commanded to treat you
with every respect, but not to let you see where you are borne
to."
"By what right does Count L'Estrange commit this outrage!" began
Leoline, almost as imperiously as Miranda herself, and making use
of her tongue, like a true woman, the very first moment it was at
her disposal. "How dare he carry me off in this atrocious way?
Whoever you are, sir, if you have the spirit of a man, you will
bring me directly back to my own house
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