The Midnight Queen [33]
propriety was a good
deal stronger than her physical powers; and she swayed and
tottered, and had to cling to her unknown friend for support.
"You are scarcely strong enough, I am afraid, dear lady," he
said, kindly. "You had better let me carry you. I assure you I
am quite equal to it, or even a more weighty burden, if necessity
required."
"Thank you, sir," said the faint voice, faintly; "but I would
rather walk. Where are you taking me to?"
"To your own house, if you wish - it is quite close at hand,"
"Yes. Yes. Let us go there! Prudence in there, and she will
take care of me.".
"Will she?" said Ormiston, doubtfully. "I hope you do not suffer
much pain!"
"I do not suffer at all, she said, wearily; "only I am so tired.
Oh, I wish I were home!"
Ormiston half led, half lifted her up the stairs.
"You are almost there, dear lady - see, it is close st hand!"
She half lifted her languid eyes, but did not speak. Leaning
panting on his arm, he drew her gently on until they reached her
door. It was still unfastened. Prudence had kept her word, and
not gone near it; and he opened it, and helped her in.
"Where now?" h? asked.
"Up stairs," she said, feebly. "I want to go to my own room."
Ormiston knew where that was, and assisted her there as tenderly
as he could have done La Masque herself. He paused on the
threshold; for the room was dark.
"There is a lamp and a tinder-box on the mantel," said the faint,
sweet voice, "if you will only please to find them."
Ormiston crowed the room - fortunately he knew the latitude of
the place -and moving his hand with gingerly precaution along
the mantel-shelf, lest he should upset any of the gimcracks
thereon, soon obtained the articles named, and struck a light.
The lady was leaning wearily against the door-post, but now she
came forward, and dropped exhausted into the downy pillows of a
lounge.
"Is there anything I can do for you, madame?" began Ormiston,
with as solicitous an air as though he had been her father. "A
glass of wine would be of use to you, I think, and then, if you
wish, I will go for a doctor."
"You are very kind. You will find wine and glasses in the room
opposite this, and I feel so faint that I think you had better
bring me some."
Ormiston moved across the passage, like the good, obedient young
man that he was, filled a glass of Burgundy, and as he was
returning with it, was startled by s cry from the lady that
nearly made him drop and shiver it on the floor.
"What under heaven has come to her now?" he thought, hastening
in, wondering how she could possibly have come to grief since he
left her.
She was sitting upright on the sofa, her dress palled down off
her shoulder where the plague-spot had been , and which, to his
amazement, he saw now pure and stainless, and free from every
loathsome trace.
"You are cured of the plague!" was all he could say.
"Thank God!" she exclaimed, fervently clasping her hands. "But
oh! how can it have happened? It mast be a miracle!"
"No, it was your plunge into the river; I have heard of one or
two such cases before, and if ever I take it," said Ormiston,
half laughing, half shuddering, "my first rush shall be for old
Father Thames. Here, drink this, I am certain it will complete
the cure."
The girl - she was nothing but a girl - drank it off and sat
upright like one inspired with new life. As she set down the
glass, she lifted her dark, solemn, beautiful eyes to his face
with a long, searching gaze.
"What is your name?" she simply asked.
"Ormiston, madame," he said, bowing low.
"You have saved my life, have you not?"
"It was the Earl of Rochester who reserved you from the river;
but I would have done it a moment later."
"I do not mean that. I mean" - with a slight shudder - "are you
not one of those I
deal stronger than her physical powers; and she swayed and
tottered, and had to cling to her unknown friend for support.
"You are scarcely strong enough, I am afraid, dear lady," he
said, kindly. "You had better let me carry you. I assure you I
am quite equal to it, or even a more weighty burden, if necessity
required."
"Thank you, sir," said the faint voice, faintly; "but I would
rather walk. Where are you taking me to?"
"To your own house, if you wish - it is quite close at hand,"
"Yes. Yes. Let us go there! Prudence in there, and she will
take care of me.".
"Will she?" said Ormiston, doubtfully. "I hope you do not suffer
much pain!"
"I do not suffer at all, she said, wearily; "only I am so tired.
Oh, I wish I were home!"
Ormiston half led, half lifted her up the stairs.
"You are almost there, dear lady - see, it is close st hand!"
She half lifted her languid eyes, but did not speak. Leaning
panting on his arm, he drew her gently on until they reached her
door. It was still unfastened. Prudence had kept her word, and
not gone near it; and he opened it, and helped her in.
"Where now?" h? asked.
"Up stairs," she said, feebly. "I want to go to my own room."
Ormiston knew where that was, and assisted her there as tenderly
as he could have done La Masque herself. He paused on the
threshold; for the room was dark.
"There is a lamp and a tinder-box on the mantel," said the faint,
sweet voice, "if you will only please to find them."
Ormiston crowed the room - fortunately he knew the latitude of
the place -and moving his hand with gingerly precaution along
the mantel-shelf, lest he should upset any of the gimcracks
thereon, soon obtained the articles named, and struck a light.
The lady was leaning wearily against the door-post, but now she
came forward, and dropped exhausted into the downy pillows of a
lounge.
"Is there anything I can do for you, madame?" began Ormiston,
with as solicitous an air as though he had been her father. "A
glass of wine would be of use to you, I think, and then, if you
wish, I will go for a doctor."
"You are very kind. You will find wine and glasses in the room
opposite this, and I feel so faint that I think you had better
bring me some."
Ormiston moved across the passage, like the good, obedient young
man that he was, filled a glass of Burgundy, and as he was
returning with it, was startled by s cry from the lady that
nearly made him drop and shiver it on the floor.
"What under heaven has come to her now?" he thought, hastening
in, wondering how she could possibly have come to grief since he
left her.
She was sitting upright on the sofa, her dress palled down off
her shoulder where the plague-spot had been , and which, to his
amazement, he saw now pure and stainless, and free from every
loathsome trace.
"You are cured of the plague!" was all he could say.
"Thank God!" she exclaimed, fervently clasping her hands. "But
oh! how can it have happened? It mast be a miracle!"
"No, it was your plunge into the river; I have heard of one or
two such cases before, and if ever I take it," said Ormiston,
half laughing, half shuddering, "my first rush shall be for old
Father Thames. Here, drink this, I am certain it will complete
the cure."
The girl - she was nothing but a girl - drank it off and sat
upright like one inspired with new life. As she set down the
glass, she lifted her dark, solemn, beautiful eyes to his face
with a long, searching gaze.
"What is your name?" she simply asked.
"Ormiston, madame," he said, bowing low.
"You have saved my life, have you not?"
"It was the Earl of Rochester who reserved you from the river;
but I would have done it a moment later."
"I do not mean that. I mean" - with a slight shudder - "are you
not one of those I