The Midnight Queen [30]
that is - "
"Well?" she said, almost touched by his earnestness.
"Raise your mask and try me! Show me your face and see if I do
not love you still!"
"Truly I know how much love you will have for me when it is
revealed. Do you know that no one has looked in my face for the
last eight years."
He stood and gazed at her in wonder.
"It is so, Mr. Ormiston; and in my heart I have vowed a vow to
plunge headlong into the most loathsome plague-pit in London,
rather than ever raise it again. My friend, be satisfied. Go
and leave me; go and forget me."
"I can do neither until I have ceased to forget every thing
earthly. Madame, I implore you, hear me!"
"Mr. Ormiston, I tell you, you but court your own doom. No one
can look on me and live!"
"I will risk it," he said with an incredulous smile. "Only
promise to show me your face."
"Be it so then!" she cried almost fiercely. "I promise, and be
the consequences on your own head."
His whole face flushed with joy.
"I accept them. And when is that happy time to come?"
"Who knows! What must be done, had best be done quickly; but I
tell thee it were safer to play with the lightning's chain than
tamper with what thou art about to do."
"I take the risk! Will you raise your mask now?"
"No, no - I cannot! But yet, I may before the sun rises. My
face" - with bitter scorn - "shows better by darkness than by
daylight. Will you be out to see, the grand illumination."
"Most certainly."
"Then meet me here an hour after midnight, and the face so long
hidden shall be revealed. But, once again, on the threshold of
doom, I entreat you to pause."
"There is no such word for me!" he fiercely and exultingly cried.
"I have your promise, and I shall hold you to it! And, madame,
if, at last, you discover my love is changeless as fate itself,
then - then may I not dare to hope for a return?"
"Yes; then you may hope," she said, with cold mockery. "If your
love survives the sight, it will be mighty, indeed, and well
worthy a return,"
"And you will return it?"
"I will."
"You will be my wife?"
"With all my heart!"
"My darling!" he cried, rapturously - "for you are mine already -
how can I ever thank you for this? If s whole lifetime devoted
and consecrated to your happiness can repay you, it shall be
yours!"
During this rhapsody, her hand had been on the handle of the
door. Now she turned it.
"Good-night, Mr. Ormiston," she said, and vanished.
CHAPTER VII.
THE EARL'S BARGE.
Shocks of joy, they tell me, seldom kill. Of my own knowledge I
cannot say, for I have had precious little experience of such
shocks in my lifetime, Heaven knows; but in the present instance,
I can safely aver, they had no such dismal effect on Ormiston.
Nothing earthly could have given that young gentleman a greater
shock of joy than the knowledge he was to behold the long hidden
face of his idol. That that face was ugly, he did not for an
instant believe, or, at least, it never world be ugly to him.
With a form so perfect - a form a sylph might have envied - a
voice sweeter than the Singing Fountain of Arabia, hands and feet
the most perfectly beautiful the sun ever shone on, it was simply
a moral and physical impossibility, then, they could be joined to
a repulsive face. There was a remote possibility that it was a
little less exquisite than those ravishing items, and that her
morbid fancy made her imagine it homely, compared with them, but
he knew he never would share in that opinion. It was the
reasoning of lover, rather, the logic; for when love glides
smiling in at the door, reason stalks gravely, not to say
sulkily, out of the window, and, standing afar off, eyes
disdainfully the didos and antics of her late tenement. There
was very little reason, therefore, in Ormiston's head
"Well?" she said, almost touched by his earnestness.
"Raise your mask and try me! Show me your face and see if I do
not love you still!"
"Truly I know how much love you will have for me when it is
revealed. Do you know that no one has looked in my face for the
last eight years."
He stood and gazed at her in wonder.
"It is so, Mr. Ormiston; and in my heart I have vowed a vow to
plunge headlong into the most loathsome plague-pit in London,
rather than ever raise it again. My friend, be satisfied. Go
and leave me; go and forget me."
"I can do neither until I have ceased to forget every thing
earthly. Madame, I implore you, hear me!"
"Mr. Ormiston, I tell you, you but court your own doom. No one
can look on me and live!"
"I will risk it," he said with an incredulous smile. "Only
promise to show me your face."
"Be it so then!" she cried almost fiercely. "I promise, and be
the consequences on your own head."
His whole face flushed with joy.
"I accept them. And when is that happy time to come?"
"Who knows! What must be done, had best be done quickly; but I
tell thee it were safer to play with the lightning's chain than
tamper with what thou art about to do."
"I take the risk! Will you raise your mask now?"
"No, no - I cannot! But yet, I may before the sun rises. My
face" - with bitter scorn - "shows better by darkness than by
daylight. Will you be out to see, the grand illumination."
"Most certainly."
"Then meet me here an hour after midnight, and the face so long
hidden shall be revealed. But, once again, on the threshold of
doom, I entreat you to pause."
"There is no such word for me!" he fiercely and exultingly cried.
"I have your promise, and I shall hold you to it! And, madame,
if, at last, you discover my love is changeless as fate itself,
then - then may I not dare to hope for a return?"
"Yes; then you may hope," she said, with cold mockery. "If your
love survives the sight, it will be mighty, indeed, and well
worthy a return,"
"And you will return it?"
"I will."
"You will be my wife?"
"With all my heart!"
"My darling!" he cried, rapturously - "for you are mine already -
how can I ever thank you for this? If s whole lifetime devoted
and consecrated to your happiness can repay you, it shall be
yours!"
During this rhapsody, her hand had been on the handle of the
door. Now she turned it.
"Good-night, Mr. Ormiston," she said, and vanished.
CHAPTER VII.
THE EARL'S BARGE.
Shocks of joy, they tell me, seldom kill. Of my own knowledge I
cannot say, for I have had precious little experience of such
shocks in my lifetime, Heaven knows; but in the present instance,
I can safely aver, they had no such dismal effect on Ormiston.
Nothing earthly could have given that young gentleman a greater
shock of joy than the knowledge he was to behold the long hidden
face of his idol. That that face was ugly, he did not for an
instant believe, or, at least, it never world be ugly to him.
With a form so perfect - a form a sylph might have envied - a
voice sweeter than the Singing Fountain of Arabia, hands and feet
the most perfectly beautiful the sun ever shone on, it was simply
a moral and physical impossibility, then, they could be joined to
a repulsive face. There was a remote possibility that it was a
little less exquisite than those ravishing items, and that her
morbid fancy made her imagine it homely, compared with them, but
he knew he never would share in that opinion. It was the
reasoning of lover, rather, the logic; for when love glides
smiling in at the door, reason stalks gravely, not to say
sulkily, out of the window, and, standing afar off, eyes
disdainfully the didos and antics of her late tenement. There
was very little reason, therefore, in Ormiston's head