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The Midnight Queen [10]

By Root 1995 0
hairs of old age. The pestilential effluvia arising

from the dreadful mass was so overpowering that both shrank back,

faint and sick, after a moment's survey. It was indeed as Sir

Norman had, said, a horrible grave wherein to lie.



Meantime the driver, with an eye to business, and no time for

such nonsense as melancholy moralizing, had laid the body of the

young girl on the ground, and briskly turned his cart and dumped

the remainder of his load into the pit. Then, having flung a few

handfuls of clay over it, he unwound the sheet, and kneeling

beside the body, prepared to remove the jewels. The rays of the

moon and his dark lantern fell on the lovely, snow-white face

together, and Sir Norman groaned despairingly as he saw its

death-cold rigidity. The man had stripped the rings off the

fingers, the bracelets off the arms; but as he was about to

perform the same operation toward the necklace, he was stopped by

a startling interruption enough. In his haste, the clasp entered

the beautiful neck, inflicting a deep scratch, from which the

blood spouted; and at the same instant the dead girl opened her

eyes with a shrill cry. Uttering a yell of terror, as well he

might, the man sprang back and gazed at her with horror,

believing that his sacrilegious robbery had brought the dead to

life. Even the two young men-albeit, neither of them given to

nervousness nor cowardice - recoiled for an instant, and stared

aghast. Then, as the whole truth struck them, that the girl had

been in a deep swoon and not dead, both simultaneously darted

forward, and forgetting all fear of infection, knelt by her side.

A pair of great, lustrous black eyes were staring wildly around,

and fixed themselves first on one face and then on the other.



"Where am I?" she exclaimed, with a terrified look, as she strove

to raise herself on her elbow, and fell instantaneously back with

a cry of agony, as she felt for the first time the throbbing

anguish of the wound.



You are with friends, dear lady!" said Sir Norman, in a voice

quite tremulous between astonishment and delight. "Fear nothing,

for you shall be saved."



The great black eyes turned wildly upon him, while a fierce spasm

convulsed the beautiful face.



"O, my God, I remember! I have the plague!" And, with a

prolonged shriek of anguish, that thrilled even to the hardened

heart of the dead-cart driver, the girl fell back senseless

again. Sir Norman Kingsley sprang to his feet, and with more the

air of a frantic lunatic than a responsible young English knight,

caught the cold form in his arms, laid it in the dead-cart, and

was about springing into the driver's seat, when that individual

indignantly interposed.



"Come, now; none of that! If you were the king himself, you

shouldn't run away with my cart in that fashion; so you just get

out of my place as fast as you can!"



"My dear Kingsley, what are you about to do?" asked Ormiston,

catching his excited friend by the arm.



"Do!" exclaimed Sir Norman, in a high key. "Can't you see that

for yourself! And I'm going to have that girl cured of the

plague, if there is such a thing as a doctor to be had for love

or money in London."



"You had better have her taken to the pest house at once, then;

there are chirurgeons and nurses enough there."



"To the pest-house! Why man, I might as well have her thrown

into the plague-pit there, at once! Not I! I shall have her

taken to my own house, and there properly cared for, and this

good fellow will drive her there instantly."



Sir Norman backed this insinuation by putting a broad gold-piece

into the driver's hand, which instantly produced a magical effect

on his rather surly countenance.



"Certainly, sir," he began, springing into his seat with

alacrity. "Where shall I drive the young lady to?"



"Follow me," said Sir Norman. "Come along, Ormiston." And

seizing his friend
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