The Midnight Queen [53]
known on a bush. He glanced at the
lower throne and found it as he expected, empty; and he saw at
once that his little highness was not only prince consort, but
also supreme judge in the kingdom. Two or three similar
black-robed gentry, among whom was recognizable the noble duke
who so narrowly escaped with his life under the swords of Sir
Norman and Count L'Estrange. Before this solemn conclave stood a
man who was evidently the prisoner under trial, and who wore the
whitest and most frightened face Sir Norman thought he had ever
beheld. The queen was lounging negligently back on her throne,
paying very little attention to the solemn rites, occasionally
gossiping with some of the snow-white sylphs beside her, and
often yawning behind her pretty finger-tips, and evidently very
much bored by it all.
The rest of the company were decorously seated in the crimson and
gilded arm-chairs, some listening with interest to what was going
on, others holding whispered tete-a-tetes, and all very still and
respectful.
Sir Norman's interest was aroused to the highest pitch; he
imprudently leaned forward too far, in order to bear and see, and
lost his balance. He felt he was going, and tried to stop
himself, but in vain; and seeing there was no help for it, he
made a sudden spring, and landed right in the midst of the
assembly.
CHAPTER XI.
THE EXECUTION.
In an instant all was confusion. Everybody sprang to their feet
- ladies shrieked in chorus, gentlemen swore and drew their
swords, and looked to see if they might not expect a whole army
to drop from the sky upon them, as they stood. No other
battalion, however, followed this forlorn hope; and seeing it,
the gentlemen took heart of grace and closed around the
unceremonious intruder. The queen had sprung from her royal
seat, and stood with her bright lips parted, and her brighter
eyes dilating in speechless wonder. The bench, with the judge at
their head, had followed her example, and stood staring with all
their might, looking, truth to tell, as much startled by the
sudden apparition as the fair sex. The said fair sex were still
firing off little volleys of screams in chorus, and clinging
desperately to their cavaliers; and everything, in a word, was in
most admired disorder.
Tam O'Shanter's cry, "Weel done, Cutty sark!" could not have
produced half such a commotion among his "hellish legion" as the
emphatic debut of Sir Norman Kingsley among these human revelers.
The only one who seemed rather to enjoy it than otherwise was the
prisoner, who was quietly and quickly making off, when the
malevolent and irrepressible dwarf espied him, and the one shock
acting as a counter-irritant to the other, he bounced fleetly
over the table, and grabbed him in his crab-like claws.
This brisk and laudable instance of self-command had a wonderful
and inspiriting effect on the rest; and as he replaced the pale
and palsied prisoner in his former position, giving him a
vindictive shake and vicious kick with his royal boots as he did
so, everybody began to feel themselves again. The ladies stopped
screaming, the gentlemen ceased swearing, and more than one
exclamation of astonishment followed the cries of terror.
"Sir Norman Kingsley! Sir Norman Kingsley!" rang from lip to lip
of those who recognized him; and all drew closer, and looked at
him as if they really could not make up their mind to believe
their eyes. As for Sir Norman himself, that gentleman was
destined literally, if not metaphorically, to fall on his legs
that night, and had alighted on the crimson velvet-carpet,
cat-like, on his feet. In reference to his feelings - his first
was one of frantic disapproval of going down; his second, one of
intense astonishment of finding himself there with unbroken
bones; his third, a disagreeable conviction that he had about put
his foot in it, and was in
lower throne and found it as he expected, empty; and he saw at
once that his little highness was not only prince consort, but
also supreme judge in the kingdom. Two or three similar
black-robed gentry, among whom was recognizable the noble duke
who so narrowly escaped with his life under the swords of Sir
Norman and Count L'Estrange. Before this solemn conclave stood a
man who was evidently the prisoner under trial, and who wore the
whitest and most frightened face Sir Norman thought he had ever
beheld. The queen was lounging negligently back on her throne,
paying very little attention to the solemn rites, occasionally
gossiping with some of the snow-white sylphs beside her, and
often yawning behind her pretty finger-tips, and evidently very
much bored by it all.
The rest of the company were decorously seated in the crimson and
gilded arm-chairs, some listening with interest to what was going
on, others holding whispered tete-a-tetes, and all very still and
respectful.
Sir Norman's interest was aroused to the highest pitch; he
imprudently leaned forward too far, in order to bear and see, and
lost his balance. He felt he was going, and tried to stop
himself, but in vain; and seeing there was no help for it, he
made a sudden spring, and landed right in the midst of the
assembly.
CHAPTER XI.
THE EXECUTION.
In an instant all was confusion. Everybody sprang to their feet
- ladies shrieked in chorus, gentlemen swore and drew their
swords, and looked to see if they might not expect a whole army
to drop from the sky upon them, as they stood. No other
battalion, however, followed this forlorn hope; and seeing it,
the gentlemen took heart of grace and closed around the
unceremonious intruder. The queen had sprung from her royal
seat, and stood with her bright lips parted, and her brighter
eyes dilating in speechless wonder. The bench, with the judge at
their head, had followed her example, and stood staring with all
their might, looking, truth to tell, as much startled by the
sudden apparition as the fair sex. The said fair sex were still
firing off little volleys of screams in chorus, and clinging
desperately to their cavaliers; and everything, in a word, was in
most admired disorder.
Tam O'Shanter's cry, "Weel done, Cutty sark!" could not have
produced half such a commotion among his "hellish legion" as the
emphatic debut of Sir Norman Kingsley among these human revelers.
The only one who seemed rather to enjoy it than otherwise was the
prisoner, who was quietly and quickly making off, when the
malevolent and irrepressible dwarf espied him, and the one shock
acting as a counter-irritant to the other, he bounced fleetly
over the table, and grabbed him in his crab-like claws.
This brisk and laudable instance of self-command had a wonderful
and inspiriting effect on the rest; and as he replaced the pale
and palsied prisoner in his former position, giving him a
vindictive shake and vicious kick with his royal boots as he did
so, everybody began to feel themselves again. The ladies stopped
screaming, the gentlemen ceased swearing, and more than one
exclamation of astonishment followed the cries of terror.
"Sir Norman Kingsley! Sir Norman Kingsley!" rang from lip to lip
of those who recognized him; and all drew closer, and looked at
him as if they really could not make up their mind to believe
their eyes. As for Sir Norman himself, that gentleman was
destined literally, if not metaphorically, to fall on his legs
that night, and had alighted on the crimson velvet-carpet,
cat-like, on his feet. In reference to his feelings - his first
was one of frantic disapproval of going down; his second, one of
intense astonishment of finding himself there with unbroken
bones; his third, a disagreeable conviction that he had about put
his foot in it, and was in