The Midnight Queen by May Agnes Fleming (best books under 200 pages txt) 📖

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 I should, my lord, only Sir Norman, unfortunately, does not know himself."

The earl's countenance looked so utterly blank at this announcement, that Ormiston was forced to throw in a word of explanation.

"I mean to say, my lord, that he has fallen in love with her; and, judging from appearances, I should say his flame is not altogether hopeless, although they have met to-night for the first time."

"A rapid passion. Where have you left her, Ormiston?"

"In her own house, my lord," Ormiston replied, smiling quietly to himself.

"Where is that?"

"About a dozen yards from where I stood when you called me."

"Who are her family?" continued the earl, who seemed possessed of a devouring curiosity.

"She has none that I know of. I imagine Mistress Leoline is an orphan. I know there was not a living soul but ourselves in the house I brought her to."

"And you left her there alone?" exclaimed the earl, half starting up, an if about to order the boatman to row back to the landing.

Ormiston looked at his excited face with a glance full of quiet malice.

"No, my lord, not quits; Sir Norman Kingsley was with her!"

"Oh!" said the earl, smiling back with a look of chagrin. "Then he will probably find out her name before he comes away. I wonder you could give her up so easily to him, after all your trouble!"

"Smitten, my lord?" inquired Ormiston, maliciously.

"Hopelessly!" replied the earl, with a deep sigh. "She was a perfect little beauty; and if I can find her, I warn Sir Norman Kingsley to take care! I have already sent Hubert out in search of her; and, by the way," said the earl, with a sudden increase of animation, "what a wonderful resemblance she bears to Hubert--I could almost swear they were one and the same!"

"The likeness is marvelous; but I should hate to take such an oath. I confess I am somewhat curious myself; but I stand no chance of having it gratified before to-morrow, I suppose."

"How those fires blaze! It is much brighter than at noon-day. Show me the house in which Leoline lies?".

Ormiston easily pointed it out, and showed the earl the light still burning in her window.

"It was in that room we found her first, dead of the plague!"

"Dead of the what?" cried the earl, aghast.

"Dead of the plague! I'll tell your lordship how it was," said Ormiston, who forthwith commend and related the story of their finding Leoline; of the resuscitation at the plague-pit; of the flight from Sir Norman's house, and of the delirious plunge into the river, and miraculous cure.

"A marvelous story," commented the earl, much interested. "And Leoline seems to have as many lives as a cat! Who can she be--a princess in disguise--eh, Ormiston?" "She looks fit to be a princess, or anything else; but your lordship knows as much about her, now, as I do."

"You say she was dressed as a bride--how came that?"

"Simply enough. She was to be married to-night, had she not taken the plague instead."

"Married? Why, I thought you told me a few minutes ago she was in love with Kingsley. It seems to me, Mr. Ormiston, your remarks are a trifle inconsistent," said the earl, in a tone of astonished displeasure.

"Nevertheless, they are all perfectly true. Mistress Leoline was to be married, as I told you; but she was to marry to please her friends, and not herself. She had been in the habit of watching Kingsley go past her window; and the way she blushed, and went through the other little motions, convinces me that his course of true love will ran as smooth as this glassy river runs at present."

"Kingsley is a lucky fellow. Will the discarded suitor have no voice in the matter; or is he such a simpleton as to give her up at a word?"

Ormiston laughed.

"Ah! to be sure; what will the count say? And, judging from some things I've heard, I should say he is violently in love with her."

"Count who?" asked Rochester. "Or has he, like his ladylove, no other name?"

"Oh, no! The name of the gentleman who was so nearly blessed for life, and missed it, is Count L'Estrange!"

The earl had been lying listlessly back, only half intent upon his answer, as he watched the fire; but now he sprang sharply up, and stared Ormiston full in the face.

"Count what did you say?" was his eager question, while his eyes, more eager than his voice, strove to read the reply before it was repeated.

"Count L'Estrange. You know him, my lord?" said Ormiston, quietly.

"Ah!" said the earl. And then such a strange meaning smile went wandering about his face. "I have not said that! So his name is Count L'Estrange? Well, I don't wonder now at the girl's beauty."

The earl sank back to his former nonchalant position and fell for a moment or two into deep musing; and then, as if the whole thing struck him in a new and ludicrous light, he broke out into an immoderate fit of laughter. Ormiston looked at him curiously.

"It is my turn to ask questions, now, my lord. Who is Count L'Estrange?"

"I know of no such person, Ormiston. I was thinking of something else! Was it Leoline who told you that was her lover's name?"

"No; I heard it by mere accident from another person. I am sure, if Leoline is not a personage in disguise, he is."

"And why do you think so?"

"An inward conviction, my lord. So you will not tell me who he is?"

"Have I not told you I know of no such person as Count L'Estrange? You ought to believe me. Oh, here it comes."

This last was addressed to a great drop of rain, which splashed heavily on his upturned face, followed by another and another in quick succession.

"The storm is upon us," said the earl, sitting up and wrapping his cloak closer around him, "and I am for Whitehall. Shall we land you, Ormiston, or take you there, too?"

"I must land," said Ormiston. "I have a pressing engagement for the next half-hour. Here it is, in a perfect deluge; the fires will be out in five minutes."

The barge touched the stairs, and Ormiston sprang out, with "Good-night" to the earl. The rain was rushing along, now, in torrents, and he ran upstairs and darted into an archway of the bridge, to seek the shelter. Some one else had come there before him, in search of the same thing; for he saw two dark figures standing within it as he entered.

"A sudden storm," was Ormiston's salutation, "and a furious one. There go the fires--hiss and splutter. I knew how it would be."

"Then Saul and Mr. Ormiston are among the prophets?"

Ormiston had heard that voice before; it was associated in his mind with a slouched hat and shadowy cloak; and by the fast-fading flicker of the firelight, he saw that both were here. The speaker wan Count L'Estrange; the figure beside him, slender and boyish, was unknown.

"You have the advantage of me, sir," he said affecting ignorance. "May I ask who you are?"

"Certainly. A gentlemen, by courtesy and the grace of God."

"And your name?"

"Count L'Estrange, at your service."

Ormiston lifted his cap and bowed, with a feeling somehow, that the count was a man in authority.

"Mr. Ormiston assisted in doing a good deed, tonight, for a friend of mine," said the count.

"Will he add to that obligation by telling me if he has not discovered her again, and brought her back?"

"Do you refer to the fair lady in yonder house?"

"So she is there? I thought so, George," said the count, addressing himself to his companion. "Yes, I refer to her, the lady you saved from the river. You brought her there?"

"I brought her there," replied Ormiston.

"She is there still?"

"I presume so. I have heard nothing to the contrary."

"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 La 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