The Midnight Queen Part 6

The page loitered behind, talking, as it seemed, to the waterman.

"He wears the livery of the Earl of Rochester," said Ormiston, speaking for the first time, "but I cannot see his face."

"He will follow presently, and be sure you see it then! Possibly you may not find it entirely new to you."

She drew back into the shadow as she spoke; and the two n.o.bles, as they advanced, talking earnestly, beheld Sir Norman and Ormiston. Both raised their hats with a look of recognition, and the salute was courteously returned by the others.

"Good-night, gentlemen," said Lord Rochester; "a hot evening, is it not?

Have you come here to witness the illumination?"

"Hardly," said Sir Norman; "we have come for a very different purpose, my lord."

"The fires will have one good effect," said Ormiston laughing; "if they clear the air and drive away this stifling atmosphere."

"Pray G.o.d they drive away the plague!" said the Duke of York, as he and his companion pa.s.sed from view.

The page sprang up the stairs after them, humming as he came, one of his master's love ditties--songs, saith tradition, savoring anything but the odor of sanct.i.ty. With the warning of La Masque fresh in their mind, both looked at him earnestly. His gay livery was that of Lord Rochester, and became his graceful figure well, as he marched along with a jaunty swagger, one hand on his aide, and the other toying with a beautiful little spaniel, that frisked in open violation of the Lord Mayor's orders, commanding all dogs, great and small, to be put to death as propagators of the pestilence. In pa.s.sing, the lad turned his face toward them for a moment--a bright, saucy, handsome face it was--and the next instant he went round an angle and disappeared. Ormiston suppressed an oath. Sir Norman stifled a cry of amazement--for both recognized that beautiful colorless face, those perfect features, and great, black, l.u.s.trous eyes. It was the face of the lady they had saved from the plague-pit!

"Am I sane or mad?" inquired Sir Norman, looking helplessly about him for information. "Surely that is she we are in search of."

"It certainly is!" said Ormiston. "Where are the wonders of this night to end?"

"Satan and La Masque only know; for they both seem to have united to drive me mad. Where is she?"

"Where, indeed?" said Ormiston; "where is last year's snow?" And Sir Norman, looking round at the spot where she had stood a moment before, found that she, too, had disappeared.

CHAPTER IV. THE STRANGER.

The two friends looked at each other in impressive silence for a moment, and spake never a word. Not that they were astonished--they were long past the power of that emotion: and if a cloud had dropped from the sky at their feet, they would probably have looked at it pa.s.sively, and vaguely wonder if the rest would follow. Sir Norman, especially, had sank into a state of mind that words are faint and feeble to describe.

Ormiston, not being quite so far gone, was the first to open his lips.

"Upon my honor, Sir Norman, this is the most astonis.h.i.+ng thing ever I heard of. That certainly was the face of our half-dead bride! What, in the name of all the G.o.ds, can it mean, I wonder?"

"I have given up wondering," said Sir Norman, in the same helpless tone.

"And if the earth was to open and swallow London up, I should not be the least surprised. One thing is certain: the lady we are seeking and that page are one and the same."

"And yet La Masque told you she was two miles from the city, in the haunted ruin; and La Masque most a.s.suredly knows."

"I have no doubt she is there. I shall not be the least astonished if I find her in every street between this and Newgate."

"Really, it is a most singular affair! First you see her in the magic caldron; then we find her dead; then, when within an ace of being buried, she comes to life; then we leave her lifeless as a marble statue, shut up in your room, and fifteen minutes after, she vanishes as mysteriously as a fairy in a nursery legend. And, lastly, she turns up in the shape of a court-page, and swaggers along London Bridge at this hour of the night, chanting a love song. Faith! it would puzzle the sphinx herself to read this riddle, I've a notion!"

"I, for one, shall never try to read it," said Sir Norman. "I am about tired of this labyrinth of mysteries, and shall save time and La Masque to unravel them at their leisure."

"Then you mean to give up the pursuit?"

"Not exactly. I love this mysterious beauty too well to do that; and when next I find her, be it where it may, I shall take care she does not slip so easily through my fingers."

"I cannot forget that page," said Ormiston, musingly. "It is singular since, he wears the Earl of Rochester's livery, that we have never seen him before among his followers. Are you quite sure, Sir Norman, that you have not?"

"Seen him? Don't be absurd, Ormiston! Do you think I could ever forget such a face as that?"

"It would not be easy, I confess. One does not see such every day. And yet--and yet--it is most extraordinary!"

"I shall ask Rochester about him the first thing to-morrow; and unless he is an optical illusion--which I vow I half believe is the case--I will come at the truth in spite of your demoniac friend, La Masque!"

"Then you do not mean to look for him to-night?"

"Look for him? I might as well look for a needle in a haystack. No! I have promised La Masque to visit the old ruins, and there I shall go forthwith. Will you accompany me?"

"I think not. I have a word to say to La Masque, and you and she kept talking so busily, I had no chance to put it in."

Sir Norman laughed.

"Besides, I have no doubt it is a word you would not like to utter in the presence of a third party, even though that third party be your friend and Pythias, Kingsley. Do you mean to stay here like a plague-sentinel until she returns?"

"Possibly; or if I get tired I may set out in search of her. When do you return?"

"The Fates, that seem to make a foot-ball of my best affections, and kick them as they please, only know. If nothing happens--which, being interpreted, means, if I am still in the land of the living--I shall surely be back by daybreak."

"And I shall be anxious about that time to hear the result of your night's adventure; so where shall we meet?"

"Why not here? it is as good a place as any."

"With all my heart. Where do you propose getting a horse?"

"At the King's Arms--but a stones throw from here. Farewell."

"Good-night, and G.o.d speed you!" said Ormiston. And wrapping his cloak close about him, he leaned against the doorway, and, watching the dancing lights on the river, prepared to await the return of La Masque.

With his head full of the adventures and misadventures of the night, Sir Norman walked thoughtfully on until he reached the King's Arms--a low inn on the bank of the river. To his dismay he found the house shut up, and bearing the dismal mark and inscription of the pestilence. While he stood contemplating it in perplexity, a watchman, on guard before another plague-stricken house, advanced and informed him that the whole family had perished of the disease, and that the landlord himself, the last survivor, had been carried off not twenty minutes before to the plague-pit.

"But," added the man, seeing Sir Norman's look of annoyance, and being informed what he wanted, "there are two or three horses around there in the stable, and you may as well help yourself, for if you don't take them, somebody else will."

This philosophic logic struck Sir Norman as being so extremely reasonable, that without more ado he stepped round to the stables and selected the best it contained. Before proceeding on his journey, it occurred to him that, having been handling a plague-patient, it would be a good thing to get his clothes fumigated; so he stepped into an apothecary's store for that purpose, and provided himself also with a bottle of aromatic vinegar. Thus prepared for the worst, Sir Norman sprang on his horse like a second Don Quixote striding his good steed Rozinante, and sallied forth in quest of adventures. These, for a short time, were of rather a dismal character; for, hearing the noise of a horse's hoofs in the silent streets at that hour of the night, the people opened their doors as he pa.s.sed by, thinking it the pest-cart, and brought forth many a miserable victim of the pestilence. Averting his head from the revolting spectacles, Sir Norman held the bottle of vinegar to his nostrils, and rode rapidly till he reached Newgate. There he was stopped until his bill of health was examined, and that small ma.n.u.script being found all right, he was permitted to pa.s.s on in peace.

Everywhere he went, the trail of the serpent was visible over all. Death and Desolation went hand in hand. Outside as well as inside the gates, great piles of wood and coal were arranged, waiting only the midnight hour to be fired. Here, however, no one seemed to be stirring; and no sound broke the silence but the distant rumble of the death-cart, and the ringing of the driver's bell. There were lights in some of the houses, but many of them were dark and deserted, and nearly every one bore the red cross of the plague.

It was a gloomy scene and hour, and Sir Norman's heart turned sick within him as he noticed the ruin and devastation the pestilence had everywhere wrought. And he remembered, with a shudder, the prediction of Lilly, the astrologer, that the paved streets of London would be like green fields, and the living be no longer able to bury the dead. Long before this, he had grown hardened and accustomed to death from its very frequence; but now, as he looked round him, he almost resolved to ride on and return no more to London till the plague should have left it.

But then came the thought of his unknown lady-love, and with it the reflection that he was on his way to find her; and, rousing himself from his melancholy reverie, he rode on at a brisker pace, heroically resolved to brave the plague or any other emergency, for her sake. Full of this laudable and lover-like resolution, he had got on about half a mile further, when he was suddenly checked in his rapid career by an exciting, but in no way surprising, little incident.

During the last few yards, Sir Norman had come within sight of another horseman, riding on at rather a leisurely pace, considering the place and the hour. Suddenly three other hors.e.m.e.n came galloping down upon him, and the leader presenting a pistol at his head, requested him in a stentorial voice for his money or his life. By way of reply, the stranger instantly produced a pistol of his own, and before the astonished highwayman could comprehend the possibility of such an act, discharged it full in his face. With a loud yell the robber reeled and fell from his saddle, and in a twinkling both his companions fired their pistols at the traveler, and bore, with a simultaneous cry of rage, down upon him. Neither of the shots had taken effect, but the two enraged highwaymen would have made short work of their victim had not Sir Norman, like a true knight, ridden to the rescue. Drawing his sword, with one vigorous blow he placed another of the a.s.sa.s.sins hors de combat; and, delighted with the idea of a fight to stir his stagnant blood, was turning (like a second St. George at the Dragon), upon the other, when that individual, thinking discretion the better part of valor, instantaneously turned tail and fled. The whole brisk little episode had not occupied five minutes, and Sir Norman was scarcely aware the fight had began before it had triumphantly ended.

"Short, sharp, and decisive!" was the stranger's cool criticism, as he deliberately wiped his blood-stained sword, and placed it in a velvet scabbard. "Our friends, there, got more than they bargained for, I fancy. Though, but for you, Sir," he said, politely raising his hat and bowing, "I should probably have been ere this in heaven, or--the other place."

Sir Norman, deeply edified by the easy sang-froid of the speaker, turned to take a second look at him. There was very little light; for the night had grown darker as it wore on, and the few stars that had glimmered faintly had hid their diminished heads behind the piles of inky clouds.