The Midnight Queen [105]
and uproar, and confusion, met his ear. At the same
instant, their guide opened a door, revealing a dark passage,
illuminated by a few rays of light, and which Sir Norman
instantly recognized as that leading to the Black Chamber. Here
again the duke paused, and turned round to them with a
wildly-imploring face.
"Gentlemen, I do conjure you to let me enter before you do! I
tell you they will murder me the very instant they discover I
have led you here!"
"That would be a great pity!" said the count; "and the gallows
will be cheated of one of its brightest ornaments! That is your
den of thieves, I suppose, from which all this uproar comes?"
"It is. And as I have guided you safely to it, surely I deserve
this trifling boon."
"Trifling, do you call it," interposed Sir Norman, "to let you
make your escape, as you most assuredly will do the moment you
are out of our sight! No, no; we are too old birds to be caught
with such chaff; and though the informer always gets off
scot-free, your services deserve no such boon; for we could have
found our way without your help! On with you, Sir Robber; and if
your companions do kill you, console yourself with the thought
that they have only anticipated the executioner by a few days!"
With a perfectly heart-rending groan, the unfortunate duke walked
on; but when they reached the archway directly before the room,
he came to an obstinate halt, and positively refused to go a step
farther. It was death, anyway, and he resisted with the courage
of desperation, feeling he might as well die there as go in and
be assassinated by his confederates, and not even the persuasive
influence of Hubert's dagger could prevail on him to budge an
inch farther.
"Stay, then!" said the count, with perfect indifference. "And,
soldiers, see that he does not escape! Now, Kingsley, let us
just have a glimpse of what is going on within."
Though the party had made considerable noise in advancing, and
had spoken quite loudly in their little animated discussion with
the duke, so great was the turmoil and confusion within, that it
was not heeded, or even heard. With very different feelings from
those with which he had stood there last, Sir Norman stepped
forward and stood beside the count, looking at the scene within.
The crimson court was in a state of "most admired disorder," and
the confusion of tongues was equal to Babel. No longer were they
languidly promenading, or lolling in the cushioned chairs; but
all seemed running to and fro in the wildest excitement, which
the grandest duke among them seemed to share equally with the
terrified white sylphs. Everybody appeared to be talking
together, and paying no attention whatever to the sentiments of
their neighbors. One universal centre of union alone seemed to
exist, and that was the green, judicial table near the throne,
upon which, while all tongues ran, all eyes turned. For some
minutes, neither of the beholders could make out why, owing to
the crowd (principally of the ladies) pressing around it; but Sir
Norman guessed, and thrilled through with a vague sensation of
terror, lest it should prove to be the dead body of Miranda.
Skipping in and out among the females he saw the dwarf,
performing a sort of war dance of rage and frenzy; twining both
hands in his wig, as if he would have torn it out by the roots,
and anon tearing at somebody else's wig, so that everybody backed
off when he came near them.
"Who is that little fiend?" inquired the count; "and what have
they got there at the and of the room, pray?"
"That little fiend is the ringleader here, and is entitled Prince
Caliban. Regarding your other question," said Sir Norman, with a
faint thrill, "there was a table there when I saw it last, but I
am afraid there is something worse now."
"Could ever any mortal conceive of such a scene," observed the
count to himself;
instant, their guide opened a door, revealing a dark passage,
illuminated by a few rays of light, and which Sir Norman
instantly recognized as that leading to the Black Chamber. Here
again the duke paused, and turned round to them with a
wildly-imploring face.
"Gentlemen, I do conjure you to let me enter before you do! I
tell you they will murder me the very instant they discover I
have led you here!"
"That would be a great pity!" said the count; "and the gallows
will be cheated of one of its brightest ornaments! That is your
den of thieves, I suppose, from which all this uproar comes?"
"It is. And as I have guided you safely to it, surely I deserve
this trifling boon."
"Trifling, do you call it," interposed Sir Norman, "to let you
make your escape, as you most assuredly will do the moment you
are out of our sight! No, no; we are too old birds to be caught
with such chaff; and though the informer always gets off
scot-free, your services deserve no such boon; for we could have
found our way without your help! On with you, Sir Robber; and if
your companions do kill you, console yourself with the thought
that they have only anticipated the executioner by a few days!"
With a perfectly heart-rending groan, the unfortunate duke walked
on; but when they reached the archway directly before the room,
he came to an obstinate halt, and positively refused to go a step
farther. It was death, anyway, and he resisted with the courage
of desperation, feeling he might as well die there as go in and
be assassinated by his confederates, and not even the persuasive
influence of Hubert's dagger could prevail on him to budge an
inch farther.
"Stay, then!" said the count, with perfect indifference. "And,
soldiers, see that he does not escape! Now, Kingsley, let us
just have a glimpse of what is going on within."
Though the party had made considerable noise in advancing, and
had spoken quite loudly in their little animated discussion with
the duke, so great was the turmoil and confusion within, that it
was not heeded, or even heard. With very different feelings from
those with which he had stood there last, Sir Norman stepped
forward and stood beside the count, looking at the scene within.
The crimson court was in a state of "most admired disorder," and
the confusion of tongues was equal to Babel. No longer were they
languidly promenading, or lolling in the cushioned chairs; but
all seemed running to and fro in the wildest excitement, which
the grandest duke among them seemed to share equally with the
terrified white sylphs. Everybody appeared to be talking
together, and paying no attention whatever to the sentiments of
their neighbors. One universal centre of union alone seemed to
exist, and that was the green, judicial table near the throne,
upon which, while all tongues ran, all eyes turned. For some
minutes, neither of the beholders could make out why, owing to
the crowd (principally of the ladies) pressing around it; but Sir
Norman guessed, and thrilled through with a vague sensation of
terror, lest it should prove to be the dead body of Miranda.
Skipping in and out among the females he saw the dwarf,
performing a sort of war dance of rage and frenzy; twining both
hands in his wig, as if he would have torn it out by the roots,
and anon tearing at somebody else's wig, so that everybody backed
off when he came near them.
"Who is that little fiend?" inquired the count; "and what have
they got there at the and of the room, pray?"
"That little fiend is the ringleader here, and is entitled Prince
Caliban. Regarding your other question," said Sir Norman, with a
faint thrill, "there was a table there when I saw it last, but I
am afraid there is something worse now."
"Could ever any mortal conceive of such a scene," observed the
count to himself;