The Midnight Queen [67]
a slender little beauty of
eighteen stood condemned to die.
"Now for our other prisoner!" exclaimed the dwarf with sprightly
animation; "and while I go to the cell, you, fair ladies, and you
my lord, will seek the black chamber and await our coming there."
Ordering one of his attendants to precede him with a light, the
dwarf skipped jauntily away, to gloat over his victim. He
reached the dungeon door, which the guards, with some trepidation
in their countenance, as they thought of what his highness would
say when he found her majesty locked in with the prisoner, threw
open.
"Come forth, Sir Norman Kingsley!" shouted the dwarf, rushing in.
"Come forth and meet your doom!"
But no Sir Norman Kingsley obeyed the pleasant invitation, and a
dull echo from the darkness alone answered him. There was a lamp
burning on the floor, and near it lay a form, shining and specked
with white in the gloom. He made for it between fear and fury,
but there was something red and slippery on the ground, in which
his foot slipped, and he fell. Simultaneously there was a wild
cry from the two guards and the attendant, that was echoed by a
perfect screech of rage from the dwarf, as on looking down he
beheld Queen Miranda lying on the floor in the pool of blood, and
apparently quite dead, and Sir Norman Kingsley gone.
CHAPTER, XIV.
IN THE DUNGEON.
The interim between Miranda setting down her lamp on the dungeon
floor among the rats and the beetles, and the dwarf's finding her
bleeding and senseless, was not more than twenty minutes, but a
great deal may be done in twenty minutes judiciously expended,
and most decidedly it was so in the present case. Both rats and
beetles paused to contemplate the flickering lamp, and Miranda
paused to contemplate them, and Sir Norman paused to contemplate
her, for an instant or so in silence. Her marvelous resemblance
to Leoline, in all but one thing, struck him more and more -
there was the same beautiful transparent colorless complexion,
the same light, straight, graceful figure, the same small oval
delicate features; the same profuse waves of shining dark hair,
the same large, dark, brilliant eyes; the same, little, rosy
pretty mouth, like one of Correggio's smiling angels. The one
thing wanting was expression - in Leoline's face there was a kind
of childlike simplicity; a look half shy, half fearless, half
solemn in her wonderful eyes; but in this, her prototype, there
was nothing shy or solemn; all was cold, hard, and glittering,
and the brooding eyes were full of a dull, dusky fire. She
looked as hard and cold and bitter, as she was beautiful; and Sir
Norman began to perplex himself inwardly as to what had brought
her here. Surely not sympathy, for nothing wearing that face of
stone, could even know the meaning of such a word. While he
looked at her, half wonderingly, half pityingly, half tenderly -
a queer word that last, but the feeling was caused by her
resemblance to Leoline - she had been moodily watching an old
gray rat, the patriarch of his tribe, who was making toward her
in short runs, stopping between each one to stare at her, out of
his unpleasantly bright eyes. Suddenly, Miranda shut her teeth,
clenched her hands, and with a sort of fierce suppressed
ejaculation, lifted her shining foot and planted it full on the
rat's head. So sudden, so fierce, and so strong, was the stamp,
that the rat was crushed flat, and uttered a sharp and indignant
squeal of expostulation, while Sir Norman looked at her, thinking
she had lost her wits. Still she ground it down with a fiercer
and stronger force every second; and with her eyes still fixed
upon it, and blazing with reddish black flame, she said, in a
sort of fiery hiss:
"Look at it! The ugly, loathsome thing! Did you ever see
anything look more like him?"
There must have been some mysterious rapport between
eighteen stood condemned to die.
"Now for our other prisoner!" exclaimed the dwarf with sprightly
animation; "and while I go to the cell, you, fair ladies, and you
my lord, will seek the black chamber and await our coming there."
Ordering one of his attendants to precede him with a light, the
dwarf skipped jauntily away, to gloat over his victim. He
reached the dungeon door, which the guards, with some trepidation
in their countenance, as they thought of what his highness would
say when he found her majesty locked in with the prisoner, threw
open.
"Come forth, Sir Norman Kingsley!" shouted the dwarf, rushing in.
"Come forth and meet your doom!"
But no Sir Norman Kingsley obeyed the pleasant invitation, and a
dull echo from the darkness alone answered him. There was a lamp
burning on the floor, and near it lay a form, shining and specked
with white in the gloom. He made for it between fear and fury,
but there was something red and slippery on the ground, in which
his foot slipped, and he fell. Simultaneously there was a wild
cry from the two guards and the attendant, that was echoed by a
perfect screech of rage from the dwarf, as on looking down he
beheld Queen Miranda lying on the floor in the pool of blood, and
apparently quite dead, and Sir Norman Kingsley gone.
CHAPTER, XIV.
IN THE DUNGEON.
The interim between Miranda setting down her lamp on the dungeon
floor among the rats and the beetles, and the dwarf's finding her
bleeding and senseless, was not more than twenty minutes, but a
great deal may be done in twenty minutes judiciously expended,
and most decidedly it was so in the present case. Both rats and
beetles paused to contemplate the flickering lamp, and Miranda
paused to contemplate them, and Sir Norman paused to contemplate
her, for an instant or so in silence. Her marvelous resemblance
to Leoline, in all but one thing, struck him more and more -
there was the same beautiful transparent colorless complexion,
the same light, straight, graceful figure, the same small oval
delicate features; the same profuse waves of shining dark hair,
the same large, dark, brilliant eyes; the same, little, rosy
pretty mouth, like one of Correggio's smiling angels. The one
thing wanting was expression - in Leoline's face there was a kind
of childlike simplicity; a look half shy, half fearless, half
solemn in her wonderful eyes; but in this, her prototype, there
was nothing shy or solemn; all was cold, hard, and glittering,
and the brooding eyes were full of a dull, dusky fire. She
looked as hard and cold and bitter, as she was beautiful; and Sir
Norman began to perplex himself inwardly as to what had brought
her here. Surely not sympathy, for nothing wearing that face of
stone, could even know the meaning of such a word. While he
looked at her, half wonderingly, half pityingly, half tenderly -
a queer word that last, but the feeling was caused by her
resemblance to Leoline - she had been moodily watching an old
gray rat, the patriarch of his tribe, who was making toward her
in short runs, stopping between each one to stare at her, out of
his unpleasantly bright eyes. Suddenly, Miranda shut her teeth,
clenched her hands, and with a sort of fierce suppressed
ejaculation, lifted her shining foot and planted it full on the
rat's head. So sudden, so fierce, and so strong, was the stamp,
that the rat was crushed flat, and uttered a sharp and indignant
squeal of expostulation, while Sir Norman looked at her, thinking
she had lost her wits. Still she ground it down with a fiercer
and stronger force every second; and with her eyes still fixed
upon it, and blazing with reddish black flame, she said, in a
sort of fiery hiss:
"Look at it! The ugly, loathsome thing! Did you ever see
anything look more like him?"
There must have been some mysterious rapport between