The Midnight Queen [17]
like a plague-sentinel until she returns?"
"Possibly; or if I get tired I may set out in search of her.
When do you return?"
"The Fates, that seem to make a foot-ball of my best affections,
and kick them as they please, only know. If nothing happens -
which, being interpreted, means, if I am still in the land of the
living - I shall surely be back by daybreak."
"And I shall be anxious about that time to hear the result of
your night's adventure; so where shall we meet?"
"Why not here? it is as good a place an any."
"With all my heart. Where do you propose getting a horse?"
"At the King's Arms - but a stones throw from here. Farewell."
"Good-night, and God speed you!" said Ormiston. And wrapping his
cloak close about him, he leaned against the doorway, and,
watching the dancing lights on the river, prepared to await the
return of La Masque.
With his head full of the adventures and misadventures of the
night, Sir Norman walked thoughtfully on until he reached the
King's Arms - a low inn on the bank of the river. To his dismay
he found the house shut up, and bearing the dismal mark and
inscription of the pestilence. While he stood contemplating it
in perplexity, a watchman, on guard before another plague-
stricken house, advanced and informed him that the whole family
had perished of the disease, and that the landlord himself, the
last survivor, had been carried off not twenty minutes before to
the plague-pit.
"But," added the man, seeing Sir Norman's look of annoyance, and
being informed what he wanted, "there are two or three horses
around there in the stable, and you may as well help yourself,
for if you don't take them, somebody else will."
This philosophic logic struck Sir Norman as being so extremely
reasonable, that without more ado he stepped round to the stables
and selected the best it contained. Before proceeding on his
journey, it occurred to him that, having been handling a plague-
patient, it would be a good thing to get his clothes fumigated;
so he stepped into an apothecary's store for that purpose, and
provided himself also with a bottle of aromatic vinegar. Thus
prepared for the worst, Sir Norman sprang on his horse like a
second Don Quixote striding his good steed Rozinante, and sallied
forth in quest of adventures. These, for a short time, were of
rather a dismal character; for, hearing the noise of a horse's
hoofs in the silent streets at that hour of the night, the people
opened their doors as he passed by, thinking it the pest-cart,
and brought forth many a miserable victim of the pestilence.
Averting his head from the revolting spectacles, Sir Norman held
the bottle of vinegar to his nostrils, and rode rapidly till he
reached Newgate. There he was stopped until his bill of health
was examined, and that small manuscript being found all right, he
was permitted to pass on in peace. Everywhere he went, the trail
of the serpent was visible over all. Death and Desolation went
hand in hand. Outside as well as inside the gates, great piles
of wood and coal were arranged, waiting only the midnight hour to
be fired. Here, however, no one seemed to be stirring; and no
sound broke the silence but the distant rumble of the death-cart,
and the ringing of the driver's bell. There were lights in some
of the houses, but many of them were dark and deserted, and
nearly every one bore the red cross of the plague.
It was a gloomy scene and hour, and Sir Norman's heart turned
sick within him as he noticed tho ruin and devastation the
pestilence had everywhere wrought. And he remembered, with a
shudder, the prediction of Lilly, the astrologer, that the paved
streets of London would be like green fields, and the living be
no longer able to bury the dead. Long before this, he had grown
hardened and accustomed to death from its very frequence; but
now, as he looked round him,
"Possibly; or if I get tired I may set out in search of her.
When do you return?"
"The Fates, that seem to make a foot-ball of my best affections,
and kick them as they please, only know. If nothing happens -
which, being interpreted, means, if I am still in the land of the
living - I shall surely be back by daybreak."
"And I shall be anxious about that time to hear the result of
your night's adventure; so where shall we meet?"
"Why not here? it is as good a place an any."
"With all my heart. Where do you propose getting a horse?"
"At the King's Arms - but a stones throw from here. Farewell."
"Good-night, and God speed you!" said Ormiston. And wrapping his
cloak close about him, he leaned against the doorway, and,
watching the dancing lights on the river, prepared to await the
return of La Masque.
With his head full of the adventures and misadventures of the
night, Sir Norman walked thoughtfully on until he reached the
King's Arms - a low inn on the bank of the river. To his dismay
he found the house shut up, and bearing the dismal mark and
inscription of the pestilence. While he stood contemplating it
in perplexity, a watchman, on guard before another plague-
stricken house, advanced and informed him that the whole family
had perished of the disease, and that the landlord himself, the
last survivor, had been carried off not twenty minutes before to
the plague-pit.
"But," added the man, seeing Sir Norman's look of annoyance, and
being informed what he wanted, "there are two or three horses
around there in the stable, and you may as well help yourself,
for if you don't take them, somebody else will."
This philosophic logic struck Sir Norman as being so extremely
reasonable, that without more ado he stepped round to the stables
and selected the best it contained. Before proceeding on his
journey, it occurred to him that, having been handling a plague-
patient, it would be a good thing to get his clothes fumigated;
so he stepped into an apothecary's store for that purpose, and
provided himself also with a bottle of aromatic vinegar. Thus
prepared for the worst, Sir Norman sprang on his horse like a
second Don Quixote striding his good steed Rozinante, and sallied
forth in quest of adventures. These, for a short time, were of
rather a dismal character; for, hearing the noise of a horse's
hoofs in the silent streets at that hour of the night, the people
opened their doors as he passed by, thinking it the pest-cart,
and brought forth many a miserable victim of the pestilence.
Averting his head from the revolting spectacles, Sir Norman held
the bottle of vinegar to his nostrils, and rode rapidly till he
reached Newgate. There he was stopped until his bill of health
was examined, and that small manuscript being found all right, he
was permitted to pass on in peace. Everywhere he went, the trail
of the serpent was visible over all. Death and Desolation went
hand in hand. Outside as well as inside the gates, great piles
of wood and coal were arranged, waiting only the midnight hour to
be fired. Here, however, no one seemed to be stirring; and no
sound broke the silence but the distant rumble of the death-cart,
and the ringing of the driver's bell. There were lights in some
of the houses, but many of them were dark and deserted, and
nearly every one bore the red cross of the plague.
It was a gloomy scene and hour, and Sir Norman's heart turned
sick within him as he noticed tho ruin and devastation the
pestilence had everywhere wrought. And he remembered, with a
shudder, the prediction of Lilly, the astrologer, that the paved
streets of London would be like green fields, and the living be
no longer able to bury the dead. Long before this, he had grown
hardened and accustomed to death from its very frequence; but
now, as he looked round him,