The Midnight Queen [87]
would think it were noonday instead of
midnight."
"The whole city is astir about these fires. Have you any idea
they will be successful?"
"Not the least. You know, my lord, the prediction runs, that the
plague will rage till the living are no longer able to bury the
dead."
"It will soon come to that," said the earl shuddering slightly,
"if it continues increasing much longer as it does now daily.
How do the bills of mortality ran to-day?"
"I have not heard. Hark! There goes St. Paul's tolling twelve."
"And there goes a flash of fire - the first among many. Look,
look! How they spring up into the black darkness."
"They will not do it long. Look at the sky, my lord."
The earl glanced up at the midnight sky, of a dull and dingy red
color, except where black and heavy clouds were heaving like
angry billows, all dingy with smoke and streaked with bars of
fiery red.
"I see! There is a storm coming, and a heavy one! Our worthy
burghers and most worshipful Lord Mayor will see their fires
extinguished shortly, and themselves sent home with wet jackets."
"And for weeks, almost month, there has not fallen a drop of
rain," remarked Ormiston, gravely.
"A remarkable coincidence, truly. There seems to be a fatality
hanging over this devoted city."
"I wonder your lordship remains?"
The earl shrugged his shoulders significantly.
"It is not so easy leaving it as you think, Mr. Ormiston; but I
am to turn my back to it to-morrow for a brief period. You are
aware, I suppose, that the court leaves before daybreak for
Oxford."
"I believe I have heard something of it - how long to remain?"
"Till Charles takes it into his head to come back again," said
the earl, familiarly, "which will probably be in a week or two.
Look at that sky, all black and scarlet; and look at those people
- I scarcely thought there were half the number left alive in
London."
"Even the sick have come out to-night," said Ormiston. "Half the
pest-stricken in the city have left their beds, full of newborn
hope. One would think it were a carnival."
"So it is - a carnival of death! I hope, Ormiston," said the
earl, looking at him with a light laugh, "the pretty little white
fairy we rescued from the river is not one of the sick parading
the streets."
Ormiston looked grave.
"No, my lord, I think she is not. I left her safe and secure."
"Who is she, Ormiston?" coaxed the earl, laughingly. "Pshaw,
man! don't make a mountain out of a mole-hill! Tell me her
name!"
"Her name is Leoline."
"What else?"
"That is just what I would like to have some one tell me. I give
you my honor, my lord, I do not know."
The earl's face, half indignant, half incredulous, wholly
curious, made Ormiston smile.
"It is a fact, my lord. I asked her her name, and she told me
Leoline - a pretty title enough, but rather unsatisfactory."
"How long have you known her?"
"To the best of my belief," said Ormiston, musingly, "about four
hours."
"Nonsense!" cried the earl, energetically. "What are you telling
me, Ormiston? You said she was an old friend."
"I beg your pardon, my lord, I said no such thing. I told you
she had escaped from her friends, which was strictly true."
"Then how the demon had you the impudence to come up and carry
her off in that style? I certainly had a better right to her
than you - the right of discovery; and I shall call upon you to
deliver her up!"
"If she belonged to me I should only be too happy to oblige your
lordship," laughed Ormiston; "but she is at present the property
of Sir Norman Kingsley, and to him you must apply."
"Ah! His inamorata, in she? Well, I must say his taste is
excellent; but I should think you ought to know her name, since
you and he are noted for being a modern Damon and Pythias."
"Probably
midnight."
"The whole city is astir about these fires. Have you any idea
they will be successful?"
"Not the least. You know, my lord, the prediction runs, that the
plague will rage till the living are no longer able to bury the
dead."
"It will soon come to that," said the earl shuddering slightly,
"if it continues increasing much longer as it does now daily.
How do the bills of mortality ran to-day?"
"I have not heard. Hark! There goes St. Paul's tolling twelve."
"And there goes a flash of fire - the first among many. Look,
look! How they spring up into the black darkness."
"They will not do it long. Look at the sky, my lord."
The earl glanced up at the midnight sky, of a dull and dingy red
color, except where black and heavy clouds were heaving like
angry billows, all dingy with smoke and streaked with bars of
fiery red.
"I see! There is a storm coming, and a heavy one! Our worthy
burghers and most worshipful Lord Mayor will see their fires
extinguished shortly, and themselves sent home with wet jackets."
"And for weeks, almost month, there has not fallen a drop of
rain," remarked Ormiston, gravely.
"A remarkable coincidence, truly. There seems to be a fatality
hanging over this devoted city."
"I wonder your lordship remains?"
The earl shrugged his shoulders significantly.
"It is not so easy leaving it as you think, Mr. Ormiston; but I
am to turn my back to it to-morrow for a brief period. You are
aware, I suppose, that the court leaves before daybreak for
Oxford."
"I believe I have heard something of it - how long to remain?"
"Till Charles takes it into his head to come back again," said
the earl, familiarly, "which will probably be in a week or two.
Look at that sky, all black and scarlet; and look at those people
- I scarcely thought there were half the number left alive in
London."
"Even the sick have come out to-night," said Ormiston. "Half the
pest-stricken in the city have left their beds, full of newborn
hope. One would think it were a carnival."
"So it is - a carnival of death! I hope, Ormiston," said the
earl, looking at him with a light laugh, "the pretty little white
fairy we rescued from the river is not one of the sick parading
the streets."
Ormiston looked grave.
"No, my lord, I think she is not. I left her safe and secure."
"Who is she, Ormiston?" coaxed the earl, laughingly. "Pshaw,
man! don't make a mountain out of a mole-hill! Tell me her
name!"
"Her name is Leoline."
"What else?"
"That is just what I would like to have some one tell me. I give
you my honor, my lord, I do not know."
The earl's face, half indignant, half incredulous, wholly
curious, made Ormiston smile.
"It is a fact, my lord. I asked her her name, and she told me
Leoline - a pretty title enough, but rather unsatisfactory."
"How long have you known her?"
"To the best of my belief," said Ormiston, musingly, "about four
hours."
"Nonsense!" cried the earl, energetically. "What are you telling
me, Ormiston? You said she was an old friend."
"I beg your pardon, my lord, I said no such thing. I told you
she had escaped from her friends, which was strictly true."
"Then how the demon had you the impudence to come up and carry
her off in that style? I certainly had a better right to her
than you - the right of discovery; and I shall call upon you to
deliver her up!"
"If she belonged to me I should only be too happy to oblige your
lordship," laughed Ormiston; "but she is at present the property
of Sir Norman Kingsley, and to him you must apply."
"Ah! His inamorata, in she? Well, I must say his taste is
excellent; but I should think you ought to know her name, since
you and he are noted for being a modern Damon and Pythias."
"Probably