The Midnight Queen [76]
not realize it at all; and with a little sigh-half
pleasure, half presentiment - she walked to the window, drew the
curtain, and looked out at the night. All was peaceful and
serene; the moon was fall to overflowing, and a great deal of
extra light ran over the brim; quite a quantity of stars were
out, and were winking pleasantly down at the dark little planet
below, that went round, and round, with grim stoicism, and paid
no attention to anybody's business but its own. She saw the
heaps of black, charred ashes that the rush of rain had quenched;
she saw the still and empty street; the frowning row of gloomy
houses opposite, and the man on guard before one of them. She
had watched that man all day, thinking, with a sick shudder, of
the plague-stricken prisoners he guarded, and reading its piteous
inscription, "Lord have mercy on us!" till the words seemed
branded on her brain. While she looked now, an upper window was
opened, a night-cap was thrust out and s voice from its cavernous
depths hailed the guard.
"Robert! I say, Robert!"
"Well!" said Robert, looking up.
"Master and missus be gone at last, and the rest won't live till
morning."
"Won't they?" said Robert, phlegmatically; "what a pity! Got 'em
ready, and I'll stop the dead-cart when it comes round."
Just as he spoke, the well-known rattle of wheels, the loud
ringing of the bell, and the monotonous cry of the driver, "Bring
out your dead! bring out your dead!" echoed on the pale night's
silence; and the pest-cart came rumbling and jolting along with
its load of death. The watchman hailed the driver, according to
promise, and they entered the house together, brought out one
long, white figure, and then another, and threw them on top of
the ghastly heap.
"We'll have three more for you in on hour of so - don't forget to
come round," suggested the watchman.
"All right!" said the driver, as he took his place, whipped his
horse, rang his bell, and jogged along nonchalantly to the
plague-pit.
Sick at heart, Leoline dropped the curtain, and turned round to
see somebody else standing at her elbow. She had been quite
alone when she looked out; she was alone no longer; there had
been no noise, yet soma one had entered, and was standing beside
her. A tall figure, all in black, with its sweeping velvet robes
spangled with stars of golden rubies, a perfect figure of
incomparable grace and beauty. It had worn a cloak that had
dropped lightly from its shoulders, and lay on the floor and the
long hair streamed in darkness over shoulder and waist. The
face was masked, the form stood erect and perfectly motionless,
and the scream of surprise and consternation that arose to
Leoline's lips died out in wordless terror. Her noiseless
visitor perceived it, and touching her arm lightly with one
little white hand, said in her sweetest and most exquisite of
tones:
"My child, do not tremble so, and do not look so deathly white.
You know me, do you not?"
"You are La Masque!" said Leoline trembling with nervous dread.
"I am, and no stranger to you; though perhaps you think so. Is
it your habit every night to look out of your window in full
dress until morning?"
"How did you enter?" asked Leoline, her curiosity overcoming for
a moment even her fear.
"Through the door. Not a difficult thing, either, if you leave
it wide open every night, as it is this."
"Was it open?" said Leoline, in dismay. "I never knew it."
"Ah! then it was not you who went out last. Who was it?"
"It was - was - " Leoline's cheeks were scarlet; "it was a
friend!"
"A somewhat late hour for one's friends to visit," said La
Masque, sarcastically; "and you should learn the precaution of
seeing them to the door and fastening it after them."
"Rest assured, I shall do so for the future," said Leoline, with
a look that would have reminded Sir
pleasure, half presentiment - she walked to the window, drew the
curtain, and looked out at the night. All was peaceful and
serene; the moon was fall to overflowing, and a great deal of
extra light ran over the brim; quite a quantity of stars were
out, and were winking pleasantly down at the dark little planet
below, that went round, and round, with grim stoicism, and paid
no attention to anybody's business but its own. She saw the
heaps of black, charred ashes that the rush of rain had quenched;
she saw the still and empty street; the frowning row of gloomy
houses opposite, and the man on guard before one of them. She
had watched that man all day, thinking, with a sick shudder, of
the plague-stricken prisoners he guarded, and reading its piteous
inscription, "Lord have mercy on us!" till the words seemed
branded on her brain. While she looked now, an upper window was
opened, a night-cap was thrust out and s voice from its cavernous
depths hailed the guard.
"Robert! I say, Robert!"
"Well!" said Robert, looking up.
"Master and missus be gone at last, and the rest won't live till
morning."
"Won't they?" said Robert, phlegmatically; "what a pity! Got 'em
ready, and I'll stop the dead-cart when it comes round."
Just as he spoke, the well-known rattle of wheels, the loud
ringing of the bell, and the monotonous cry of the driver, "Bring
out your dead! bring out your dead!" echoed on the pale night's
silence; and the pest-cart came rumbling and jolting along with
its load of death. The watchman hailed the driver, according to
promise, and they entered the house together, brought out one
long, white figure, and then another, and threw them on top of
the ghastly heap.
"We'll have three more for you in on hour of so - don't forget to
come round," suggested the watchman.
"All right!" said the driver, as he took his place, whipped his
horse, rang his bell, and jogged along nonchalantly to the
plague-pit.
Sick at heart, Leoline dropped the curtain, and turned round to
see somebody else standing at her elbow. She had been quite
alone when she looked out; she was alone no longer; there had
been no noise, yet soma one had entered, and was standing beside
her. A tall figure, all in black, with its sweeping velvet robes
spangled with stars of golden rubies, a perfect figure of
incomparable grace and beauty. It had worn a cloak that had
dropped lightly from its shoulders, and lay on the floor and the
long hair streamed in darkness over shoulder and waist. The
face was masked, the form stood erect and perfectly motionless,
and the scream of surprise and consternation that arose to
Leoline's lips died out in wordless terror. Her noiseless
visitor perceived it, and touching her arm lightly with one
little white hand, said in her sweetest and most exquisite of
tones:
"My child, do not tremble so, and do not look so deathly white.
You know me, do you not?"
"You are La Masque!" said Leoline trembling with nervous dread.
"I am, and no stranger to you; though perhaps you think so. Is
it your habit every night to look out of your window in full
dress until morning?"
"How did you enter?" asked Leoline, her curiosity overcoming for
a moment even her fear.
"Through the door. Not a difficult thing, either, if you leave
it wide open every night, as it is this."
"Was it open?" said Leoline, in dismay. "I never knew it."
"Ah! then it was not you who went out last. Who was it?"
"It was - was - " Leoline's cheeks were scarlet; "it was a
friend!"
"A somewhat late hour for one's friends to visit," said La
Masque, sarcastically; "and you should learn the precaution of
seeing them to the door and fastening it after them."
"Rest assured, I shall do so for the future," said Leoline, with
a look that would have reminded Sir