The Midnight Queen [1]
drawing to the close of an almost tropical June day, that
the crowd who had thronged the precincts of St. Paul's since
early morning, began to disperse. The sun, that had throbbed the
livelong day like a great heart of fire in a sea of brass, was
sinking from sight in clouds of crimson, purple and gold, yet
Paul's Walk was crowded. There were court-gallants in ruffles
and plumes; ballad-singers chanting the not over-delicate ditties
of the Earl of Rochester; usurers exchanging gold for bonds worth
three times what they gave for them; quack-doctors reading in
dolorous tones the bills of mortality of the preceding day, and
selling plague-waters and anti-pestilential abominations, whose
merit they loudly extolled; ladies too, richly dressed, and many
of them masked; and booksellers who always made St. Paul's a
favorite haunt, and even to this day patronize its precincts, and
flourish in the regions of Paternoster Row and Ave Maria Lane;
court pages in rich liveries, pert and flippant; serving-men out
of place, and pickpockets with a keen eye to business; all
clashed and jostled together, raising a din to which the Plain of
Shinar, with its confusion of tongues and Babylonish workmen,
were as nothing.
Moving serenely through this discordant sea of his fellow-
creatures came a young man booted and spurred, whose rich doublet
of cherry colored velvet, edged and spangled with gold, and
jaunty hat set slightly on one side of his head, with its long
black plume and diamond clasp, proclaimed him to be somebody. A
profusion of snowy shirt-frill rushed impetuously out of his
doublet; a black-velvet cloak, lined with amber-satin, fell
picturesquely from his shoulders; a sword with a jeweled hilt
clanked on the pavement as he walked. One hand was covered with
a gauntlet of canary-colored kid, perfumed to a degree that would
shame any belle of to-day, the other, which rested lightly on his
sword-hilt, flashed with a splendid opal, splendidly set. He was
a handsome fellow too, with fair waving hair (for he had the good
taste to discard the ugly wigs then in vogue), dark, bright,
handsome eyes, a thick blonde moustache, a tall and remarkably
graceful figure, and an expression of countenance wherein easy
good-nature and fiery impetuosity had a hard struggle for
mastery. That he was a courtier of rank, was apparent from his
rich attire and rather aristocratic bearing and a crowd of
hangers-on followed him as he went, loudly demanding spur-money.
A group of timbril-girls, singing shrilly the songs of the day,
called boldly to him as he passed; and one of them, more free and
easy than the rest, danced up to him striking her timbrel, and
shouting rather than singing the chorus of the then popular ditty
"What care I for pest or plague?
We can die but once, God wot,
Kiss me darling - stay with me:
Love me - love me, leave me not!"
The darling in question turned his bright blue eyes on that
dashing street-singer with a cool glance of recognition.
"Very sorry, Nell," he said, in a nonchalant tone, "but I'm
afraid I must. How long have you been here, may I ask?"
"A full hour by St. Paul's; and where has Sir Norman Kingsley
been, may I ask? I thought you were dead of the plague."
"Not exactly. Have you seen - ah! there he is. The very man I
want."
With which Sir Norman Kingsley dropped a gold piece into the
girl's extended palm, and pushed on through the crowd up Paul's
Walk. A tall, dark figure was leaning moodily with folded arms,
looking fixedly at the ground, and taking no notice of the busy
scene around him until Sir Norman laid his ungloved and jeweled
hand lightly on his shoulder.
"Good morning, Ormiston. I had an idea I would find you here,
and - but what's the matter with you, man? Have you got the
plague? or has your mysterious inamorata jilted
the crowd who had thronged the precincts of St. Paul's since
early morning, began to disperse. The sun, that had throbbed the
livelong day like a great heart of fire in a sea of brass, was
sinking from sight in clouds of crimson, purple and gold, yet
Paul's Walk was crowded. There were court-gallants in ruffles
and plumes; ballad-singers chanting the not over-delicate ditties
of the Earl of Rochester; usurers exchanging gold for bonds worth
three times what they gave for them; quack-doctors reading in
dolorous tones the bills of mortality of the preceding day, and
selling plague-waters and anti-pestilential abominations, whose
merit they loudly extolled; ladies too, richly dressed, and many
of them masked; and booksellers who always made St. Paul's a
favorite haunt, and even to this day patronize its precincts, and
flourish in the regions of Paternoster Row and Ave Maria Lane;
court pages in rich liveries, pert and flippant; serving-men out
of place, and pickpockets with a keen eye to business; all
clashed and jostled together, raising a din to which the Plain of
Shinar, with its confusion of tongues and Babylonish workmen,
were as nothing.
Moving serenely through this discordant sea of his fellow-
creatures came a young man booted and spurred, whose rich doublet
of cherry colored velvet, edged and spangled with gold, and
jaunty hat set slightly on one side of his head, with its long
black plume and diamond clasp, proclaimed him to be somebody. A
profusion of snowy shirt-frill rushed impetuously out of his
doublet; a black-velvet cloak, lined with amber-satin, fell
picturesquely from his shoulders; a sword with a jeweled hilt
clanked on the pavement as he walked. One hand was covered with
a gauntlet of canary-colored kid, perfumed to a degree that would
shame any belle of to-day, the other, which rested lightly on his
sword-hilt, flashed with a splendid opal, splendidly set. He was
a handsome fellow too, with fair waving hair (for he had the good
taste to discard the ugly wigs then in vogue), dark, bright,
handsome eyes, a thick blonde moustache, a tall and remarkably
graceful figure, and an expression of countenance wherein easy
good-nature and fiery impetuosity had a hard struggle for
mastery. That he was a courtier of rank, was apparent from his
rich attire and rather aristocratic bearing and a crowd of
hangers-on followed him as he went, loudly demanding spur-money.
A group of timbril-girls, singing shrilly the songs of the day,
called boldly to him as he passed; and one of them, more free and
easy than the rest, danced up to him striking her timbrel, and
shouting rather than singing the chorus of the then popular ditty
"What care I for pest or plague?
We can die but once, God wot,
Kiss me darling - stay with me:
Love me - love me, leave me not!"
The darling in question turned his bright blue eyes on that
dashing street-singer with a cool glance of recognition.
"Very sorry, Nell," he said, in a nonchalant tone, "but I'm
afraid I must. How long have you been here, may I ask?"
"A full hour by St. Paul's; and where has Sir Norman Kingsley
been, may I ask? I thought you were dead of the plague."
"Not exactly. Have you seen - ah! there he is. The very man I
want."
With which Sir Norman Kingsley dropped a gold piece into the
girl's extended palm, and pushed on through the crowd up Paul's
Walk. A tall, dark figure was leaning moodily with folded arms,
looking fixedly at the ground, and taking no notice of the busy
scene around him until Sir Norman laid his ungloved and jeweled
hand lightly on his shoulder.
"Good morning, Ormiston. I had an idea I would find you here,
and - but what's the matter with you, man? Have you got the
plague? or has your mysterious inamorata jilted