The Midnight Queen [9]
to do, and knowing there was no help for it, made up his
mind, like a sensible young man as he was, to conceal his
feelings, and caught hold of the sheet himself. In this fashion
the dead bride was carried down stairs, and laid upon a shutter
on the top of a pile of bodies in the dead-cart.
It was now almost dark, and as the cart started, the great clock
of St. Paul's struck eight. St. Michael's, St Alban's, and the
others took up the sound; and the two young men paused to listen.
For many weeks the sky had been clear, brilliant, and blue; but
on this night dark clouds were scudding in wild unrest across it,
and the air was oppressingly close and sultry.
Where are you going now?" said Ormiston. "Are you for
Whitehall's to night?"
"No!" said Sir Norman, rather dejectedly, turning to follow the
pest-cart. "I am for the plague-pit in Finsbury fields!"
"Nonsense, man!" exclaimed Ormiston, energetically, "what will
take you there? You surely are not mad enough to follow the body
of that dead girl?"
"I shall follow it! You can come or not, just as you please."
"Oh! if you are determined, I will go with you, of course; but it
is the craziest freak I ever heard of. After this, you need
never laugh at me."
"I never will," said Sir Norman, moodily; "for if you love a face
you have never seen, I love one I have only looked on when dead.
Does it not seem sacrilege to throw any one so like an angel into
that horrible plague-pit?"
"I never saw an angel," said Ormiston, as he and his friend
started to go after the dead-cart. "And I dare say there have
been scores as beautiful as that poor girl thrown into the
plague-pit before now. I wonder why the house has been deserted,
and if she was really a bride. The bridegroom could not have
loved her much, I fancy, or not even the pestilence could have
scared him away."
"But, Ormiston, what an extraordinary thing it is that it should
be precisely the same face that the fortune-teller showed me.
There she was alive, and here she is dead; so I've lost all faith
in La Masque for ever."
Ormiston looked doubtful.
"Are you quite sure it is the same, Kingsley?"
"Quite sure?" said Sir Norman, indignantly. "Of course I am! Do
you think I could be mistaken is such a case? I tell you I would
know that face at Kamschatka or, the North Pole; for I don't
believe there ever was such another created."
"So be it, then! Your object, of course, in following that cart
is, to take a last look at her?"
"Precisely so. Don't talk; I feel in no mood for it just at
present."
Ormiston smiled to himself, and did not talk, accordingly; and in
silence the two friends followed the gloomy dead-cart. A faint
young moon, pale and sickly, was struggling dimly through drifts
of dark clouds, and lighted the lonesome, dreary streets with a
wan, watery glimmer. For weeks, the weather had been brilliantly
fine - the days all sunshine, the nights all moonlight; but now
Ormiston, looking up at the troubled face of the sky, concluded
mentally that the Lord Mayor had selected an unpropitious night
for the grand illumination. Sir Norman, with his eyes on the
pest-cart, and the long white figure therein, took no heed of
anything in the heaven above or in the earth beneath, and strode
along in dismal silence till they reached, at last, their
journey's end.
As the cart stopped the two young men approached the edge of the
plague-pit, and looked in with a shudder. Truly it was a
horrible sight, that heaving, putrid sea of corruption; for the
bodies of the miserable victims were thrown in in cartfuls, and
only covered with a handful of earth and quicklime. Here and
there, through the cracking and sinking surface, could be seen
protruding a fair white arm, or a baby face, mingled with the
long, dark tresses of maidens, the golden curls of children, and
the white
mind, like a sensible young man as he was, to conceal his
feelings, and caught hold of the sheet himself. In this fashion
the dead bride was carried down stairs, and laid upon a shutter
on the top of a pile of bodies in the dead-cart.
It was now almost dark, and as the cart started, the great clock
of St. Paul's struck eight. St. Michael's, St Alban's, and the
others took up the sound; and the two young men paused to listen.
For many weeks the sky had been clear, brilliant, and blue; but
on this night dark clouds were scudding in wild unrest across it,
and the air was oppressingly close and sultry.
Where are you going now?" said Ormiston. "Are you for
Whitehall's to night?"
"No!" said Sir Norman, rather dejectedly, turning to follow the
pest-cart. "I am for the plague-pit in Finsbury fields!"
"Nonsense, man!" exclaimed Ormiston, energetically, "what will
take you there? You surely are not mad enough to follow the body
of that dead girl?"
"I shall follow it! You can come or not, just as you please."
"Oh! if you are determined, I will go with you, of course; but it
is the craziest freak I ever heard of. After this, you need
never laugh at me."
"I never will," said Sir Norman, moodily; "for if you love a face
you have never seen, I love one I have only looked on when dead.
Does it not seem sacrilege to throw any one so like an angel into
that horrible plague-pit?"
"I never saw an angel," said Ormiston, as he and his friend
started to go after the dead-cart. "And I dare say there have
been scores as beautiful as that poor girl thrown into the
plague-pit before now. I wonder why the house has been deserted,
and if she was really a bride. The bridegroom could not have
loved her much, I fancy, or not even the pestilence could have
scared him away."
"But, Ormiston, what an extraordinary thing it is that it should
be precisely the same face that the fortune-teller showed me.
There she was alive, and here she is dead; so I've lost all faith
in La Masque for ever."
Ormiston looked doubtful.
"Are you quite sure it is the same, Kingsley?"
"Quite sure?" said Sir Norman, indignantly. "Of course I am! Do
you think I could be mistaken is such a case? I tell you I would
know that face at Kamschatka or, the North Pole; for I don't
believe there ever was such another created."
"So be it, then! Your object, of course, in following that cart
is, to take a last look at her?"
"Precisely so. Don't talk; I feel in no mood for it just at
present."
Ormiston smiled to himself, and did not talk, accordingly; and in
silence the two friends followed the gloomy dead-cart. A faint
young moon, pale and sickly, was struggling dimly through drifts
of dark clouds, and lighted the lonesome, dreary streets with a
wan, watery glimmer. For weeks, the weather had been brilliantly
fine - the days all sunshine, the nights all moonlight; but now
Ormiston, looking up at the troubled face of the sky, concluded
mentally that the Lord Mayor had selected an unpropitious night
for the grand illumination. Sir Norman, with his eyes on the
pest-cart, and the long white figure therein, took no heed of
anything in the heaven above or in the earth beneath, and strode
along in dismal silence till they reached, at last, their
journey's end.
As the cart stopped the two young men approached the edge of the
plague-pit, and looked in with a shudder. Truly it was a
horrible sight, that heaving, putrid sea of corruption; for the
bodies of the miserable victims were thrown in in cartfuls, and
only covered with a handful of earth and quicklime. Here and
there, through the cracking and sinking surface, could be seen
protruding a fair white arm, or a baby face, mingled with the
long, dark tresses of maidens, the golden curls of children, and
the white