The Midnight Queen [90]
"And alone?"
"She may be, now. Sir Norman Kingsley was with her when I left
her," said Ormiston, administering the fact with infinite relish.
There was a moment's silence. Ormiston could not see the count's
face; but, judging from his own feelings, he fancied its
expression must be sweet. The wild rush of the storm alone broke
the silence, until the spirit again moved the count to speak.
"By what right does Sir Norman Kingsley visit her?" he inquired,
in a voice betokening not the least particle of emotion.
"By the best of rights - that of her preserver, hoping soon to be
her lover."
There was an other brief silence, broken again by the count, in
the same composed tone:
"Since the lady holds her levee so late, I, too, must have a word
with her, when this deluge permits one to go abroad without
danger of drowning."
"It shown symptoms of clearing off, already," said Ormiston, who,
in his secret heart, thought it would be an excellent joke to
bring the rivals face to face in the lady's presence; "so you
will not have long to wait."
To which observation the count replied not; and the three stood
in silence, watching the fury of the storm.
Gradually it cleared away; and as the moon began to straggle out
between the rifts in the clouds, the count saw something by her
pale light that Ormiston saw not. That latter gentleman,
standing with his back to the house of Leoline, and his face
toward that of Ls Masque, did not observe the return of Sir
Norman from St. Paul's, nor look after him as he rode away. But
the count did both; and ten minutes after, when the rain had
entirely ceased, and the moon and stars got the better of the
clouds in their struggle for supremacy, he beheld La Masque
flitting like a dark shadow in the same direction, and vanishing
in at Leoline's door. The same instant, Ormiston started to go.
"The storm has entirely ceased," he said, stepping out, and with
the profound air of one making a new discovery, "and we are
likely to have fine weather for the remainder of the night - or
rather, morning. Good night, count."
"Farewell," said the count, as he and, his companion came out
from the shadow of the archway, and turned to follow La Masque.
Ormiston, thinking the hour of waiting had elapsed, and feeling
much more interested in the coming meeting than in Leoline or her
visitors, paid very little attention to his two acquaintances.
He saw them, it is true, enter Leoline's house, but at the same
instant, he took up his post at La Masque's doorway, and
concentrated his whole attention on that piece of architecture.
Every moment seemed like a week now; and before he had stood at
his post five minutes, he had worked himself up into a perfect
fever of impatience. Sometimes he was inclined to knock and seek
La Masque in her own home; but as often the fear of a chilling
rebuke paralyzed his hand when he raised it. He was so sure she
was within the house, that he never thought of looking for her
elsewhere; and when, at the expiration of what seemed to him a
century or two, but which in reality was about a quarter of an
hour, there was a soft rustling of drapery behind him, and the
sweetest of voices sounded in his ear, it fairly made him bound.
"Here again, Mr. Ormiston? Is this the fifth or sixth time I've
found you in this place to-night?"
"La Masque!" he cried, between joy and surprise. "But surely, I
was not totally unexpected this time?"
"Perhaps not. You are waiting here for me to redeem my promise,
I suppose?"
"Can you doubt it? Since I knew you first, I have desired this
hour as the blind desire sight."
"Ah! And you will find it as sweet to look back upon as you have
to look forward to," said La Masque, derisively. "If you are
wise for yourself, Mr. Ormiston, you will pause here, and give me
back that fatal word."
"Never, madame!