The Midnight Queen [81]
he resolved to
remain with her and keep her from feeling lonesome until that
time came - if she were asleep, he would steal out softly again,
and keep guard at her door until morning.
Full of these praiseworthy resolutions, he tried the handle of
the door, half expecting to find it locked, and himself obliged
to effect an entrance through the window; but no, it yielded to
his touch, and he went in. Hall and staircase were intensely
dark, but he knew his way without a pilot this time, and steered
clear of all shoals and quicksands, through the hall and up the
stairs.
The door of the lighted room - Leoline's room - lay wide open,
and he paused on the threshold to reconnoitre. He had gone
softly for fear of startling her, and now, with the same tender
caution, he glanced round the room. The lamp burned on the
dainty dressing table, where undisturbed lay jewels, perfume
bottles and other knickknacks. The cithern lay unmolested on the
couch, the rich curtains were drawn; everything was as he had
left it last - everything, but the pretty pink figure, with
drooping eyes, and pearls in the waves of her rich, black hair.
He looked round for the things she had worn, hoping she had taken
them off and retired to rest, but they were not to be seen; and
with a cold sinking of the heart, he went noiselessly across the
room, and to the bed. It was empty, and showed no trace of
having been otherwise since he and the pest-cart driver had borne
from it the apparently lifeless form of Leoline.
Yes, she was gone; and Sir Norman turned for a moment so sick
with utter dread, that he leaned against one of the tall carved
posts, and hated himself for having left her with a heartlessness
that his worst enemy could not have surpassed. Then aroused into
new and spasmodic energy by the exigency of the case, he seized
the lamp, and going out to the hall, made the house ring from
basement to attic with her name. No reply, but that hollow,
melancholy echo that sounds so lugubriously through empty houses,
was returned; and he jumped down stairs with an impetuous rush,
flinging back every door in the hall below with a crash, and
flying wildly from room to room. In solemn grim repose they lay;
but none of them held the bright figure in rose-satin he sought.
And he left them in despair, and went back to her chamber again.
"Leoline! Leoline! Leoline!" he called, while he rushed
impetuously ap stairs, and down stairs, and in my lady's chamber;
but Leoline answered not - perhaps never would answer more! Even
"hoping against hope," he had to give up the chase at last - no
Leoline did that house hold; and with this conviction
despairingly impressed on leis mind, Sir Norman Kingsley covered
his face with his hands, and uttered a dismal groan.
Yet, forlorn as was the case, he groaned but once, "only that and
nothing more;" there was no time for such small luxuries as
groaning and tearing his hair, and boiling over with wrath and
vengeance against the human race generally, and those two
diabolical specimens of it, the Earl of Rochester and Count
L'Estrange, particularly. He plunged head foremost down stairs,
and out of the door. There he was impetuously brought up all
standing; for somebody stood before it, gazing up at the gloomy
front with as much earnestness as he had done himself, and
against this individual he rushed recklessly with a shock that
nearly sent the pair of them over into the street.
"Sacr-r-re!" cried a shrill voice, in tones of indignant
remonstrance. "What do you mean, monsieur? Are you drunk, or
crazy, that you come running head foremost into peaceable
citizens, and throwing them heels uppermost on the king's
highway! Stand off, sir! And think yourself lucky that I don't
run you through with my dirk for such an insult!"
At the first sound of the outraged treble tones, Sir Norman had
started back and glared upon the
remain with her and keep her from feeling lonesome until that
time came - if she were asleep, he would steal out softly again,
and keep guard at her door until morning.
Full of these praiseworthy resolutions, he tried the handle of
the door, half expecting to find it locked, and himself obliged
to effect an entrance through the window; but no, it yielded to
his touch, and he went in. Hall and staircase were intensely
dark, but he knew his way without a pilot this time, and steered
clear of all shoals and quicksands, through the hall and up the
stairs.
The door of the lighted room - Leoline's room - lay wide open,
and he paused on the threshold to reconnoitre. He had gone
softly for fear of startling her, and now, with the same tender
caution, he glanced round the room. The lamp burned on the
dainty dressing table, where undisturbed lay jewels, perfume
bottles and other knickknacks. The cithern lay unmolested on the
couch, the rich curtains were drawn; everything was as he had
left it last - everything, but the pretty pink figure, with
drooping eyes, and pearls in the waves of her rich, black hair.
He looked round for the things she had worn, hoping she had taken
them off and retired to rest, but they were not to be seen; and
with a cold sinking of the heart, he went noiselessly across the
room, and to the bed. It was empty, and showed no trace of
having been otherwise since he and the pest-cart driver had borne
from it the apparently lifeless form of Leoline.
Yes, she was gone; and Sir Norman turned for a moment so sick
with utter dread, that he leaned against one of the tall carved
posts, and hated himself for having left her with a heartlessness
that his worst enemy could not have surpassed. Then aroused into
new and spasmodic energy by the exigency of the case, he seized
the lamp, and going out to the hall, made the house ring from
basement to attic with her name. No reply, but that hollow,
melancholy echo that sounds so lugubriously through empty houses,
was returned; and he jumped down stairs with an impetuous rush,
flinging back every door in the hall below with a crash, and
flying wildly from room to room. In solemn grim repose they lay;
but none of them held the bright figure in rose-satin he sought.
And he left them in despair, and went back to her chamber again.
"Leoline! Leoline! Leoline!" he called, while he rushed
impetuously ap stairs, and down stairs, and in my lady's chamber;
but Leoline answered not - perhaps never would answer more! Even
"hoping against hope," he had to give up the chase at last - no
Leoline did that house hold; and with this conviction
despairingly impressed on leis mind, Sir Norman Kingsley covered
his face with his hands, and uttered a dismal groan.
Yet, forlorn as was the case, he groaned but once, "only that and
nothing more;" there was no time for such small luxuries as
groaning and tearing his hair, and boiling over with wrath and
vengeance against the human race generally, and those two
diabolical specimens of it, the Earl of Rochester and Count
L'Estrange, particularly. He plunged head foremost down stairs,
and out of the door. There he was impetuously brought up all
standing; for somebody stood before it, gazing up at the gloomy
front with as much earnestness as he had done himself, and
against this individual he rushed recklessly with a shock that
nearly sent the pair of them over into the street.
"Sacr-r-re!" cried a shrill voice, in tones of indignant
remonstrance. "What do you mean, monsieur? Are you drunk, or
crazy, that you come running head foremost into peaceable
citizens, and throwing them heels uppermost on the king's
highway! Stand off, sir! And think yourself lucky that I don't
run you through with my dirk for such an insult!"
At the first sound of the outraged treble tones, Sir Norman had
started back and glared upon the