The Midnight Queen [2]
you? or what
other annoyance has happened to make you look as woebegone as old
King Lear, sent adrift by his tender daughters to take care of
himself?"
The individual addressed lifted his head, disclosing a dark and
rather handsome face, settled now into a look of gloomy
discontent. He slightly raised his hat as he saw who his
questioner was.
"Ah! it's you, Sir Norman! I had given up all notion of your
coming, and was about to quit this confounded babel - this
tumultuous den of thieves. What has detained you?"
"I was on duty at Whitehall. Are we not in time to keep our
appointment?"
"Oh, certainly! La Masque is at home to visitors at all hours,
day and night. I believe in my soul she doesn't know what sleep
means."
"And you are still as much in love with her as ever, I dare
swear! I have no doubt, now, it was of her you were thinking
when I came up. Nothing else could ever have made you look so
dismally woebegone as you did, when Providence sent me to your
relief."
"I was thinking of her," said the young man moodily, and with a
darkening brow.
Sir Norman favored him with a half-amused, half-contemptuous
stare for a moment; then stopped at a huckster's stall to
purchase some cigarettes; lit one, and after smoking for a few
minutes, pleasantly remarked, as if the fact had just struck him:
"Ormiston, you're a fool!"
"I know it!" said Ormiston, sententiously.
"The idea," said Sir Norman, knocking the ashes daintily off the
end of his cigar with the tip of his little finger - "the idea of
falling in love with a woman whose face you have never seen! I
can understand a man a going to any absurd extreme when he falls
in love in proper Christian fashion, with a proper Christian
face; but to go stark, staring mad, as you have done, my dear
fellow, about a black loo mask, why - I consider that a little
too much of a good thing! Come, let us go."
Nodding easily to his numerous acquaintances as he went, Sir
Norman Kingsley sauntered leisurely down Paul's Walk, and out
through the great door of the cathedral, followed by his
melancholy friend. Pausing for a moment to gaze at the gorgeous
sunset with a look of languid admiration, Sir Norman passed his
arm through that of his friend, and they walked on at rather a
rapid pace, in the direction of old London Bridge. There were
few people abroad, except the watchmen walking slowly up and down
before the plague-stricken houses; but in every street they
passed through they noticed huge piles of wood and coal heaped
down the centre. Smoking zealously they had walked on for a
season in silence, when Ormiston ceased puffing for a moment, to
inquire:
"What are all these for? This is a strange time, I should
imagine, for bonfires."
"They're not bonfires," said Sir Norman; "at least they are not
intended for that; and if your head was not fuller of that masked
Witch of Endor than common sense (for I believe she is nothing
better than a witch), you could not have helped knowing. The
Lord Mayor of London has been inspired suddenly, with a notion,
that if several thousand fires are kindled at once in the
streets, it will purify the air, and check the pestilence; so
when St. Paul's tolls the hour of midnight, all these piles are
to be fired. It will be a glorious illumination, no doubt; but
as to its stopping the progress of the plague, I am afraid that
it is altogether too good to be true."
"Why should you doubt it? The plague cannot last forever."
"No. But Lilly, the astrologer, who predicted its coming, also
foretold that it would last for many months yet; and since one
prophecy has come true, I see no reason why the other should
not."
"Except the simple one that there would be nobody left alive to
take it. All London will be lying in the plague-pits by that
time."
"A pleasant prospect; but a true one,
other annoyance has happened to make you look as woebegone as old
King Lear, sent adrift by his tender daughters to take care of
himself?"
The individual addressed lifted his head, disclosing a dark and
rather handsome face, settled now into a look of gloomy
discontent. He slightly raised his hat as he saw who his
questioner was.
"Ah! it's you, Sir Norman! I had given up all notion of your
coming, and was about to quit this confounded babel - this
tumultuous den of thieves. What has detained you?"
"I was on duty at Whitehall. Are we not in time to keep our
appointment?"
"Oh, certainly! La Masque is at home to visitors at all hours,
day and night. I believe in my soul she doesn't know what sleep
means."
"And you are still as much in love with her as ever, I dare
swear! I have no doubt, now, it was of her you were thinking
when I came up. Nothing else could ever have made you look so
dismally woebegone as you did, when Providence sent me to your
relief."
"I was thinking of her," said the young man moodily, and with a
darkening brow.
Sir Norman favored him with a half-amused, half-contemptuous
stare for a moment; then stopped at a huckster's stall to
purchase some cigarettes; lit one, and after smoking for a few
minutes, pleasantly remarked, as if the fact had just struck him:
"Ormiston, you're a fool!"
"I know it!" said Ormiston, sententiously.
"The idea," said Sir Norman, knocking the ashes daintily off the
end of his cigar with the tip of his little finger - "the idea of
falling in love with a woman whose face you have never seen! I
can understand a man a going to any absurd extreme when he falls
in love in proper Christian fashion, with a proper Christian
face; but to go stark, staring mad, as you have done, my dear
fellow, about a black loo mask, why - I consider that a little
too much of a good thing! Come, let us go."
Nodding easily to his numerous acquaintances as he went, Sir
Norman Kingsley sauntered leisurely down Paul's Walk, and out
through the great door of the cathedral, followed by his
melancholy friend. Pausing for a moment to gaze at the gorgeous
sunset with a look of languid admiration, Sir Norman passed his
arm through that of his friend, and they walked on at rather a
rapid pace, in the direction of old London Bridge. There were
few people abroad, except the watchmen walking slowly up and down
before the plague-stricken houses; but in every street they
passed through they noticed huge piles of wood and coal heaped
down the centre. Smoking zealously they had walked on for a
season in silence, when Ormiston ceased puffing for a moment, to
inquire:
"What are all these for? This is a strange time, I should
imagine, for bonfires."
"They're not bonfires," said Sir Norman; "at least they are not
intended for that; and if your head was not fuller of that masked
Witch of Endor than common sense (for I believe she is nothing
better than a witch), you could not have helped knowing. The
Lord Mayor of London has been inspired suddenly, with a notion,
that if several thousand fires are kindled at once in the
streets, it will purify the air, and check the pestilence; so
when St. Paul's tolls the hour of midnight, all these piles are
to be fired. It will be a glorious illumination, no doubt; but
as to its stopping the progress of the plague, I am afraid that
it is altogether too good to be true."
"Why should you doubt it? The plague cannot last forever."
"No. But Lilly, the astrologer, who predicted its coming, also
foretold that it would last for many months yet; and since one
prophecy has come true, I see no reason why the other should
not."
"Except the simple one that there would be nobody left alive to
take it. All London will be lying in the plague-pits by that
time."
"A pleasant prospect; but a true one,