The Midnight Queen [13]
wisest thing you could do, my dear fellow. If any one knows
your unfortunate beloved's whereabouts, it is La Masque, depend
upon it."
"That's settled then; and now, don't talk, for conversation at
this smart pace I don't admire."
Ormiston, like the amiable, obedient young man that he was,
instantly held his tongue, and they strode along at a breathless
pace. There was an unusual concourse of men abroad that night,
watching the gloomy face of the sky, and waiting the hour of
midnight to kindle the myriad of fires; and as the two tall, dark
figures went rapidly by, all supposed it to be a case of life or
death. In the eyes of one of the party, perhaps it was; and
neither halted till they came once more in sight of the house,
whence a short time previously they had carried the death-cold
bride. A row of lamps over the door-portals shed a yellow,
uncertain light around, while the lights of barges and wherries
were sown like stars along the river.
"There is the house," cried Ormiston, and both paused to take
breath; "and I am about at the last gasp. I wonder if your
pretty mistress would feel grateful if she knew what I have come
through to-night for her sweet sake?"
"There are no lights," mad Sir Norman, glancing ,anxiously up at
the darkened front of the house; "even the link before the door
is unlit. Surely she cannot be there."
"That remains to be seen, though I'm very doubtful about it
myself. Ah I who have we here?"
The door of the house in question opened, as he spoke, and a
figure - a man's figure, wearing a slouched hat and long, dark
cloak, came slowly out. He stopped before the house and looked
at it long and earnestly; and, by the twinkling light of the
lamps, the friends saw enough of him to know he was young and
distinguished looking.
"I should not wonder in the least it that were the bridegroom,"
whispered Ormiston, maliciously.
Sir Norman turned pale with jealousy, and laid his hand on his
sword, with a quick and natural impulse to make the bride a widow
forthwith. But he checked the desire for an instant as the
brigandish-looking gentleman, after a prolonged stare at the
premises, stepped up to the watchman, who had given them their
information an hour or two before, and who was still at his post.
The friends could not be seen, but they could hear, and they did
so very earnestly indeed.
"Can you tell me, my friend," began the cloaked unknown, "what
has become of the people residing in yonder house?"
The watchman, held his lamp up to the face of the interlocutor -
a handsome face by the way, what could be seen of it - and
indulged himself in a prolonged survey.
"Well!" said the gentleman, impatiently, "have you no tongue,
fellow? Where are they, I say?"
"Blessed if I know," said the watchman. "I, wasn't set here to
keep guard over them was I? It looks like it, though," said the
man in parenthesis; "for this makes twice to-night I've been
asked questions about it."
"Ah!" said the gentleman, with a slight start. "Who asked you
before, pray?"
"Two young gentlemen; lords, I expect, by their dress. Somebody
ran screaming out of the house, and they wanted to know what was
wrong."
"Well?" said the stranger, breathlessly, "and then?"
"And then, as I couldn't tell them they went in to see for
themselves, and shortly after came out with a body wrapped in a
sheet, which they put in a pest-cart going by, and had it buried,
I suppose, with the rest in the plague-pit."
The stranger fairly staggered back, and caught at s pillar near
for support. For nearly ten minutes, he stood perfectly
motionless, and then, without a word, started up and walked
rapidly away. The friends looked after him curiously till he was
out of eight.
"So she is not there," said Ormiston; "and our mysterious friend
in the cloak is as much at a loss as we are ourselves.
your unfortunate beloved's whereabouts, it is La Masque, depend
upon it."
"That's settled then; and now, don't talk, for conversation at
this smart pace I don't admire."
Ormiston, like the amiable, obedient young man that he was,
instantly held his tongue, and they strode along at a breathless
pace. There was an unusual concourse of men abroad that night,
watching the gloomy face of the sky, and waiting the hour of
midnight to kindle the myriad of fires; and as the two tall, dark
figures went rapidly by, all supposed it to be a case of life or
death. In the eyes of one of the party, perhaps it was; and
neither halted till they came once more in sight of the house,
whence a short time previously they had carried the death-cold
bride. A row of lamps over the door-portals shed a yellow,
uncertain light around, while the lights of barges and wherries
were sown like stars along the river.
"There is the house," cried Ormiston, and both paused to take
breath; "and I am about at the last gasp. I wonder if your
pretty mistress would feel grateful if she knew what I have come
through to-night for her sweet sake?"
"There are no lights," mad Sir Norman, glancing ,anxiously up at
the darkened front of the house; "even the link before the door
is unlit. Surely she cannot be there."
"That remains to be seen, though I'm very doubtful about it
myself. Ah I who have we here?"
The door of the house in question opened, as he spoke, and a
figure - a man's figure, wearing a slouched hat and long, dark
cloak, came slowly out. He stopped before the house and looked
at it long and earnestly; and, by the twinkling light of the
lamps, the friends saw enough of him to know he was young and
distinguished looking.
"I should not wonder in the least it that were the bridegroom,"
whispered Ormiston, maliciously.
Sir Norman turned pale with jealousy, and laid his hand on his
sword, with a quick and natural impulse to make the bride a widow
forthwith. But he checked the desire for an instant as the
brigandish-looking gentleman, after a prolonged stare at the
premises, stepped up to the watchman, who had given them their
information an hour or two before, and who was still at his post.
The friends could not be seen, but they could hear, and they did
so very earnestly indeed.
"Can you tell me, my friend," began the cloaked unknown, "what
has become of the people residing in yonder house?"
The watchman, held his lamp up to the face of the interlocutor -
a handsome face by the way, what could be seen of it - and
indulged himself in a prolonged survey.
"Well!" said the gentleman, impatiently, "have you no tongue,
fellow? Where are they, I say?"
"Blessed if I know," said the watchman. "I, wasn't set here to
keep guard over them was I? It looks like it, though," said the
man in parenthesis; "for this makes twice to-night I've been
asked questions about it."
"Ah!" said the gentleman, with a slight start. "Who asked you
before, pray?"
"Two young gentlemen; lords, I expect, by their dress. Somebody
ran screaming out of the house, and they wanted to know what was
wrong."
"Well?" said the stranger, breathlessly, "and then?"
"And then, as I couldn't tell them they went in to see for
themselves, and shortly after came out with a body wrapped in a
sheet, which they put in a pest-cart going by, and had it buried,
I suppose, with the rest in the plague-pit."
The stranger fairly staggered back, and caught at s pillar near
for support. For nearly ten minutes, he stood perfectly
motionless, and then, without a word, started up and walked
rapidly away. The friends looked after him curiously till he was
out of eight.
"So she is not there," said Ormiston; "and our mysterious friend
in the cloak is as much at a loss as we are ourselves.