The Midnight Queen [26]
heart bound, flitting
through the night-gloom toward him. He would have known that
figure on the sands of Sahara, in an Indian jungle, or an
American forest - a tall, slight, supple figure, bending and
springing like a bow of steel, queenly and regal as that of a
young empress. It was draped in a long cloak reaching to the
ground, in color as black as the night, and clasped by a jewel
whose glittering flash, he saw even there; a velvet hood of the
same color covered the stately head; and the mask - the tiresome,
inevitable mask covered the beautiful - he was positive it was
beautiful - face. He had seen her a score of times in that very
dress, flitting like a dark, graceful ghost through the city
streets, and the sight sent his heart plunging against his side
like an inward sledge-hammer. Would one pulse in her heart stir
ever so faintly at sight of him? Just as he asked himself the
question, and was stepping forward to moot her, feeling very like
the country swain in love - "hot and dry like, with a pain in his
side like" - he suddenly stopped. Another figure came forth from
the shadow of an opposite house, and softly pronounced her name.
It was a short figure - a woman's figure. He could not see the
face, and that was an immense relief to him, and prevented his
having jealousy added to his other pains sad tribulations. La
Masque paused as well as he, and her soft voice softly asked:
"Who calls?"
"It is I, madame - Prudence."
"Ah! I am glad to meet you. I have been searching the city
through for you. Where have you been?"
"Madame, I was so frightened that I don't know where I fled to,
and I could scarcely make up my mind to come back at all. I did
feel dreadfully sorry for her, poor thing! but you know, Madame
Masque, I could do nothing for her, and I should not have come
back, only I was afraid of you."
"You did wrong, Prudence," said La Masque, sternly, or at least
as sternly as so sweet a voice could speak; "you did very wrong
to leave her in such a way. You should have come to me at once,
and told me all."
"But, madame, I was so frightened!"
"Bah! You are nothing but a coward. Come into this doorway, and
tell me all about it."
Ormiston drew back as the twain approached, and entered the deep
portals of La Masque's own doorway. He could see them both by
the aforesaid faint lamplight, and he noticed that La Masque's
companion was a wrinkled old woman, that would not trouble the
peace of mind of the most jealous lover in Christendom. Perhaps
it was not just the thing to hover aloof and listen; but he could
not for the life of him help it; and stand and listen he
accordingly did. Who knew but this nocturnal conversation might
throw some light on the dark mystery he was anxious to see
through, and, could his ears have run into needle-points to hear
the better, he would have had the operation then and there
performed. There was a moment's silence after the two entered
the portal, during which La Masque stood, tall, dark, and
commanding, motionless as a marble column; and the little
withered old specimen of humanity beside her stood gazing up at
her with something between fear and fascination.
"Do you know what has become of your charge, Prudence?" asked the
low, vibrating voice of La Masque, at last.
"How could I, madame? You know I fled from the house, and I
dared not go back. Perhaps she is there still."
"Perhaps she is not? Do you suppose that sharp shriek of yours
was unheard? No; she was found; and what do you suppose has
become of her?"
The old woman looked up, and seemed to read in the dark, stern
figure, and the deep solemn voice, the fatal truth. She wrong
her hands with a sort of cry.
"Oh! I know, I know; they have put her in the dead-cart, and
buried her in the plague-pit. O my dear, sweet young mistress."
"If you had stayed by your dear,
through the night-gloom toward him. He would have known that
figure on the sands of Sahara, in an Indian jungle, or an
American forest - a tall, slight, supple figure, bending and
springing like a bow of steel, queenly and regal as that of a
young empress. It was draped in a long cloak reaching to the
ground, in color as black as the night, and clasped by a jewel
whose glittering flash, he saw even there; a velvet hood of the
same color covered the stately head; and the mask - the tiresome,
inevitable mask covered the beautiful - he was positive it was
beautiful - face. He had seen her a score of times in that very
dress, flitting like a dark, graceful ghost through the city
streets, and the sight sent his heart plunging against his side
like an inward sledge-hammer. Would one pulse in her heart stir
ever so faintly at sight of him? Just as he asked himself the
question, and was stepping forward to moot her, feeling very like
the country swain in love - "hot and dry like, with a pain in his
side like" - he suddenly stopped. Another figure came forth from
the shadow of an opposite house, and softly pronounced her name.
It was a short figure - a woman's figure. He could not see the
face, and that was an immense relief to him, and prevented his
having jealousy added to his other pains sad tribulations. La
Masque paused as well as he, and her soft voice softly asked:
"Who calls?"
"It is I, madame - Prudence."
"Ah! I am glad to meet you. I have been searching the city
through for you. Where have you been?"
"Madame, I was so frightened that I don't know where I fled to,
and I could scarcely make up my mind to come back at all. I did
feel dreadfully sorry for her, poor thing! but you know, Madame
Masque, I could do nothing for her, and I should not have come
back, only I was afraid of you."
"You did wrong, Prudence," said La Masque, sternly, or at least
as sternly as so sweet a voice could speak; "you did very wrong
to leave her in such a way. You should have come to me at once,
and told me all."
"But, madame, I was so frightened!"
"Bah! You are nothing but a coward. Come into this doorway, and
tell me all about it."
Ormiston drew back as the twain approached, and entered the deep
portals of La Masque's own doorway. He could see them both by
the aforesaid faint lamplight, and he noticed that La Masque's
companion was a wrinkled old woman, that would not trouble the
peace of mind of the most jealous lover in Christendom. Perhaps
it was not just the thing to hover aloof and listen; but he could
not for the life of him help it; and stand and listen he
accordingly did. Who knew but this nocturnal conversation might
throw some light on the dark mystery he was anxious to see
through, and, could his ears have run into needle-points to hear
the better, he would have had the operation then and there
performed. There was a moment's silence after the two entered
the portal, during which La Masque stood, tall, dark, and
commanding, motionless as a marble column; and the little
withered old specimen of humanity beside her stood gazing up at
her with something between fear and fascination.
"Do you know what has become of your charge, Prudence?" asked the
low, vibrating voice of La Masque, at last.
"How could I, madame? You know I fled from the house, and I
dared not go back. Perhaps she is there still."
"Perhaps she is not? Do you suppose that sharp shriek of yours
was unheard? No; she was found; and what do you suppose has
become of her?"
The old woman looked up, and seemed to read in the dark, stern
figure, and the deep solemn voice, the fatal truth. She wrong
her hands with a sort of cry.
"Oh! I know, I know; they have put her in the dead-cart, and
buried her in the plague-pit. O my dear, sweet young mistress."
"If you had stayed by your dear,