The Midnight Queen [31]
and heart,
but a great deal of something sweeter, joy - joy that thrilled
and vibrated through every nerve within him. Leaning against the
portal, in an absurd delirium of delight - for it takes but a
trifle to jerk those lovers from the slimiest depths of the
Slough of Despond to the topmost peak of the mountain of ecstasy
- he uncovered his head that the night-air might cool its
feverish throbbings. But the night-air was as hot as his heart;
and, almost suffocated by the sultry closeness, he was about to
start for a plunge in the river, when the sound of coming
footsteps and voices arrested him. He had met with so many odd
ad ventures to-night that he stopped now to see who was coming;
for on every hand all was silent and forsaken,
Footsteps and voices came closer; two figures took shape in the
gloom, and emerged from the darkness into the glimmering lamp
light. He recognised them both. One was the Earl of Rochester;
the other, his dark-eyed, handsome page - that strange page with
the face of the lost lady! The earl was chatting familiarly, and
laughing obstreperously at something or other, while the boy
merely wore a languid smile, as if anything further in that line
were quite beneath his dignity.
"Silence and solitude," said the earl, with a careless glance
around, " I protest, Hubert, this night seems endless. How long
is it till midnight?"
"An hour and a half at least, I should fancy," answered the boy,
with a strong foreign accent. "I know it struck ten as we passed
St. Paul's."
"This grand bonfire of our most worshipful Lord Mayor will be a
sight worth seeing," remarked the earl. "When all these piles
are lighted, the city will be one sea of fire."
"A slight foretaste of what most of its inhabitants will behold
in another world," said the page, with a French shrug. "I have
heard Lilly's prediction that London is to be purified by fire,
like a second Sodom; perhaps it is to be verified to-night."
"Not unlikely; the dome of St. Paul's would be an excellent place
to view the conflagration."
"The river will do almost as well, my lord."
"We will have a chance of knowing that presently," said the earl,
as he and his page descended to the river, where the little
gilded barge lay moored, and the boatman waiting.
As they passed from sight Ormiston came forth, and watched
thoughtfully after them. The face and figure were that of the
lady, but the voice was different; both were clear and musical
enough, but she spoke English with the purest accent, while his
was the voice of a foreigner. It most have been one of those
strange, unaccountable likenesses we sometimes see among perfect
strangers, but the resemblance in this ease was something
wonderful. It brought his thoughts back from himself sad his own
fortunate love, to his violently-smitten friend, Sir Norman, and
his plague-stricken beloved; and he began speculating what he
could possibly be about just then, or what he had discovered in
the old ruin. Suddenly he was aroused; a moment before, the
silence had been almost oppressive but now on the wings of the
night, there came a shout. A tumult of voices and footsteps were
approaching.
"Stop her! Stop her!" was cried by many voices; and the next
instant a fleet figure went flying past him with a rush, and
plunged head foremost into she river.
A slight female figure, with floating robes of white, waving hair
of deepest, blackness, with a sparkle of jewels on neck and arms.
Only for an instant did he see it; but he knew it well, and his
very heart stood still. "Stop her! stop her! she is ill of the
plague!" shouted the crowd, preying panting on; but they came too
late; the white vision had gone down into the black, sluggish
river, and disappeared.
"Who is it? What is it? Where is it?" cried two or three
watchmen, brandishing their halberds, and rushing up; and the
but a great deal of something sweeter, joy - joy that thrilled
and vibrated through every nerve within him. Leaning against the
portal, in an absurd delirium of delight - for it takes but a
trifle to jerk those lovers from the slimiest depths of the
Slough of Despond to the topmost peak of the mountain of ecstasy
- he uncovered his head that the night-air might cool its
feverish throbbings. But the night-air was as hot as his heart;
and, almost suffocated by the sultry closeness, he was about to
start for a plunge in the river, when the sound of coming
footsteps and voices arrested him. He had met with so many odd
ad ventures to-night that he stopped now to see who was coming;
for on every hand all was silent and forsaken,
Footsteps and voices came closer; two figures took shape in the
gloom, and emerged from the darkness into the glimmering lamp
light. He recognised them both. One was the Earl of Rochester;
the other, his dark-eyed, handsome page - that strange page with
the face of the lost lady! The earl was chatting familiarly, and
laughing obstreperously at something or other, while the boy
merely wore a languid smile, as if anything further in that line
were quite beneath his dignity.
"Silence and solitude," said the earl, with a careless glance
around, " I protest, Hubert, this night seems endless. How long
is it till midnight?"
"An hour and a half at least, I should fancy," answered the boy,
with a strong foreign accent. "I know it struck ten as we passed
St. Paul's."
"This grand bonfire of our most worshipful Lord Mayor will be a
sight worth seeing," remarked the earl. "When all these piles
are lighted, the city will be one sea of fire."
"A slight foretaste of what most of its inhabitants will behold
in another world," said the page, with a French shrug. "I have
heard Lilly's prediction that London is to be purified by fire,
like a second Sodom; perhaps it is to be verified to-night."
"Not unlikely; the dome of St. Paul's would be an excellent place
to view the conflagration."
"The river will do almost as well, my lord."
"We will have a chance of knowing that presently," said the earl,
as he and his page descended to the river, where the little
gilded barge lay moored, and the boatman waiting.
As they passed from sight Ormiston came forth, and watched
thoughtfully after them. The face and figure were that of the
lady, but the voice was different; both were clear and musical
enough, but she spoke English with the purest accent, while his
was the voice of a foreigner. It most have been one of those
strange, unaccountable likenesses we sometimes see among perfect
strangers, but the resemblance in this ease was something
wonderful. It brought his thoughts back from himself sad his own
fortunate love, to his violently-smitten friend, Sir Norman, and
his plague-stricken beloved; and he began speculating what he
could possibly be about just then, or what he had discovered in
the old ruin. Suddenly he was aroused; a moment before, the
silence had been almost oppressive but now on the wings of the
night, there came a shout. A tumult of voices and footsteps were
approaching.
"Stop her! Stop her!" was cried by many voices; and the next
instant a fleet figure went flying past him with a rush, and
plunged head foremost into she river.
A slight female figure, with floating robes of white, waving hair
of deepest, blackness, with a sparkle of jewels on neck and arms.
Only for an instant did he see it; but he knew it well, and his
very heart stood still. "Stop her! stop her! she is ill of the
plague!" shouted the crowd, preying panting on; but they came too
late; the white vision had gone down into the black, sluggish
river, and disappeared.
"Who is it? What is it? Where is it?" cried two or three
watchmen, brandishing their halberds, and rushing up; and the