The Midnight Queen [106]
"look at that little picture of ugliness; how
he hops about like a dropsical bull-frog. Some of those women
are very pretty, too, and outshine more than one court-beauty
that I have seen. Upon my word, it is the most extraordinary
spectacle I ever heard of. I wonder what they've got that's so
attractive down there?"
At the same moment, a loud voice within the circle abruptly
exclaimed
"She revives, she revives! Back, back, and give her air!"
Instantly, the throng swayed and fell back; and the dwarf, with a
sort of yell (whether of rage or relief, nobody knew), swept them
from side to side with a wave of his long arms, and cleared a
wide vacancy for his own especial benefit. The action gave the
count an opportunity of gratifying his curiosity. The object of
attraction was now plainly visible. Sir Norman's surmises had
been correct. The green table of the parliament-house of the
midnight court had been converted, by the aid of cushions and
pillows, into an extempore couch.; and half-buried in their downy
depths lay Miranda, the queen. The sweeping robe of royal
purple, trimmed with ermine, the circlets of jewels on arms,
bosom, and head, she still wore, and the beautiful face was
white: than fallen snow. Yet she was not dead, as Sir Norman had
dreaded; for the dark eyes were open, and were fixed with an
unutterable depth of melancholy on vacancy. Her arms lay
helplessly by her side, and someone, the court physician
probably, was bending over her and feeling her pulse.
As the count's eyes fell upon her, he started back, and grasped
Sir Norman's arm with consternation.
"Good heavens, Kingsley!" he cried; "it is Leoline, herself!"
In his excitement he had spoken so loud, that in the momentary
silence that followed the physician's direction, his voice had
rung through the room, and drew every eye upon them.
"We are seen, we are seen!" shouted Hubert, and as he spoke, a
terrible cry idled the room. In an instant every sword leaped
from its scabbard, and the shriek of the startled women rang
appallingly out on the air. Sir Norman drew his sword, too; but
the count, with his eyes yet fixed on Miranda, still held him by
the arm, and excitedly exclaimed
"Tell me, tell me, is it Leoline?"
"Leoline! No - how could it be Leoline? They look alike, that's
all. Draw your sword, count, and defend yourself; we are
discovered, and they are upon us!"
"We are upon them, you mean, and it is they who are discovered,"
said the count, doing as directed, and stepping boldly in. "A
pretty hornet's next is this we have lit upon, if ever there was
one."
Side by side with the count, with a dauntless step and eye, Sir
Norman entered, too; and, at sight of him a burst of surprise and
fury rang from lip to lip. There was a yell of "Betrayed,
betrayed!" and the dwarf, with a face so distorted by fiendish
fury that it was scarcely human, made a frenzied rush at him,
when the clear, commanding voice of the count rang like a bugle
blast through the assembly
"Sheathe your swords, the whole of you, and yield yourselves
prisoners. In the king's name, I command you to surrender."
"There is no king here but I!" screamed the dwarf, gnashing his
teeth, and fairly foaming with rage. "Die; traitor and spy! You
have escaped me once, but your hour is come now."
"Allow me to differ from you," said Sir Norman, politely, as he
evaded the blindly-frantic lunge of the dwarf's sword, and
inserted an inch or two of the point of his own in that enraged
little prince's anatomy. "So far from my hour having come - if
you will take the trouble to reflect upon it - you will find it
is the reverse, and that my little friend's brief and brilliant
career in rapidly drawing to a close."
At these bland remarks, and at the sharp thrust that accompanied
them, the dwarfs previous war-dance of anxiety was nothing to
he hops about like a dropsical bull-frog. Some of those women
are very pretty, too, and outshine more than one court-beauty
that I have seen. Upon my word, it is the most extraordinary
spectacle I ever heard of. I wonder what they've got that's so
attractive down there?"
At the same moment, a loud voice within the circle abruptly
exclaimed
"She revives, she revives! Back, back, and give her air!"
Instantly, the throng swayed and fell back; and the dwarf, with a
sort of yell (whether of rage or relief, nobody knew), swept them
from side to side with a wave of his long arms, and cleared a
wide vacancy for his own especial benefit. The action gave the
count an opportunity of gratifying his curiosity. The object of
attraction was now plainly visible. Sir Norman's surmises had
been correct. The green table of the parliament-house of the
midnight court had been converted, by the aid of cushions and
pillows, into an extempore couch.; and half-buried in their downy
depths lay Miranda, the queen. The sweeping robe of royal
purple, trimmed with ermine, the circlets of jewels on arms,
bosom, and head, she still wore, and the beautiful face was
white: than fallen snow. Yet she was not dead, as Sir Norman had
dreaded; for the dark eyes were open, and were fixed with an
unutterable depth of melancholy on vacancy. Her arms lay
helplessly by her side, and someone, the court physician
probably, was bending over her and feeling her pulse.
As the count's eyes fell upon her, he started back, and grasped
Sir Norman's arm with consternation.
"Good heavens, Kingsley!" he cried; "it is Leoline, herself!"
In his excitement he had spoken so loud, that in the momentary
silence that followed the physician's direction, his voice had
rung through the room, and drew every eye upon them.
"We are seen, we are seen!" shouted Hubert, and as he spoke, a
terrible cry idled the room. In an instant every sword leaped
from its scabbard, and the shriek of the startled women rang
appallingly out on the air. Sir Norman drew his sword, too; but
the count, with his eyes yet fixed on Miranda, still held him by
the arm, and excitedly exclaimed
"Tell me, tell me, is it Leoline?"
"Leoline! No - how could it be Leoline? They look alike, that's
all. Draw your sword, count, and defend yourself; we are
discovered, and they are upon us!"
"We are upon them, you mean, and it is they who are discovered,"
said the count, doing as directed, and stepping boldly in. "A
pretty hornet's next is this we have lit upon, if ever there was
one."
Side by side with the count, with a dauntless step and eye, Sir
Norman entered, too; and, at sight of him a burst of surprise and
fury rang from lip to lip. There was a yell of "Betrayed,
betrayed!" and the dwarf, with a face so distorted by fiendish
fury that it was scarcely human, made a frenzied rush at him,
when the clear, commanding voice of the count rang like a bugle
blast through the assembly
"Sheathe your swords, the whole of you, and yield yourselves
prisoners. In the king's name, I command you to surrender."
"There is no king here but I!" screamed the dwarf, gnashing his
teeth, and fairly foaming with rage. "Die; traitor and spy! You
have escaped me once, but your hour is come now."
"Allow me to differ from you," said Sir Norman, politely, as he
evaded the blindly-frantic lunge of the dwarf's sword, and
inserted an inch or two of the point of his own in that enraged
little prince's anatomy. "So far from my hour having come - if
you will take the trouble to reflect upon it - you will find it
is the reverse, and that my little friend's brief and brilliant
career in rapidly drawing to a close."
At these bland remarks, and at the sharp thrust that accompanied
them, the dwarfs previous war-dance of anxiety was nothing to