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

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"You insensible mortal! How can you stand there and hear that you have found a sister with so much indifference?"

"Indifferent? Not I! You have no idea how wildly excited I am!" said Hubert, in a voice not betokening the slightest emotion. "How did you find it out, Leoline?"

"Never mind! I shall tell you that again. You don't doubt it, I hope?"

"Of course not! I knew from the first moment I set eyes on you, that if you were not my sister, you ought to be! I wish you'd tell me all the particulars, Leoline."

"I shall do so as soon as I am out of this; but how can I tell you anything here?"

"That's true!" said Hubert, reflectively. "Well, I'll wait. Now, don't you wonder how I found you out, and came here?"

"Indeed I do. How was it, Hubert?"

"Oh, well, I don't know as I can altogether tell you; but you see, Sir Norman Kingsley being possessed of an inspiration that something was happening to you, came to your house a short time ago, and, as he suspected, discovered that you were missing. I met him there, rather depressed in his mind about it, and he told me--beginning the conversation, I must say, in a very excited manner," said Hubert, parenthetically, as memory recalled the furious shaking he had undergone--"and he told me he fancied you were abducted, and by one Count L'Estrange. Now I had a hazy idea who Count L'Estrange was, and where he would be most apt to take you to; and so I came here, and after some searching, more inquiring, and a few unmitigated falsehoods (you'll regret to hear), discovered you were locked up in this place, and succeeded in getting in through the window. Sir Norman is waiting for me in a state of distraction so now, having found you, I will go and relieve his mind by reporting accordingly."

"And leave me here?" cried Leoline, in affright, "and in the power of Count L'Estrange? Oh! no, no! You must take me with you, Hubert!"

"My dear Leoline, it is quite impossible to do it without help, and without a ladder. I will return to Sir Norman; and when the darkness comes that precedes day-dawn, we will raise the ladder to your window, and try to get you out. Be patient--only wait an hour or two, and then you will be free."

"But, O Hubert, where am I? What dreadful place it this?"

"Why, I do not know that this is a very dreadful place; and most people consider it a sufficiently respectable house; but, still, I would rather see my sister anywhere else than in it, and will take the trouble of kidnapping her out of it as quickly as possible."

"But, Hubert, tell me--do tell me, who is Count L'Estrange?" Hubert laughed.

"Cannot, really, Leoline! at least, not until to-morrow, and you are Lady Kingsley."

"But, what if he should come here to-night?"

"I do not think there is much danger of that, but whether he does or not, rest assured you shall be free to-morrow! At all events, it is quite impossible for you to escape with me now; and even as it is, I run the risk of being detected, and made a prisoner, myself. You must be patient and wait, Leoline, and trust to Providence and your brother Hubert!"

"I must, I suppose!" said Leoline, sighing, "and you cannot take me away until day-dawn."

"Quite impossible; and then all this drapery of yours will be ever so much in the way. Would you object to garments like these?" pointing to his doublet and hose. "If you would not, I think I could procure you a fit-out."

"But I should, though!" said Leoline, with spirit "and most decidedly, too! I shall wear nothing of the kind, Sir Page!"

"Every one to her fancy!" said Hubert, with a French shrug, "and my pretty sister shall have hers in spite of earth, air, fire, and water! And now, fair Leoline, for a brief time, adieu, and au revoir!"

"You will not fail me!" exclaimed Leoline, earnestly, clasping her hands.

"If I do, it shall be the last thing I will fail in on earth; for if I am alive by to-morrow morning, Leoline shall be free!"

"And you will be careful--you will both be careful!"

"Excessively careful! Now then."

The last two words were addressed to the window which he noiselessly opened as he spoke. Leoline caught a glimpse of the bright free moonlight, and watched him with desperate envy; but the next moment the shutters were closed, and Hubert and the moonlight were both gone.


CHAPTER XIX. HUBERT'S WHISPER.

Sir Norman Kingsley's consternation and horror on discovering the dead body of his friend, was only equalled by his amazement as to how he got there, or how he came to be dead at all. The livid face, up turned to the moonlight, was unmistakably the face of a dead man--it was no swoon, no deception, like Leoline's; for the blue, ghastly paleness that marks the flight of the soul from the body was stamped on every rigid feature. Yet, Sir Norman could not realize it. We all know how hard it is to realize the death of a friend from whom we have but lately parted in full health and life, and Ormiston's death was so sudden. Why, it was not quite two hours since they had parted in Leoline's house, and even the plague could not carry off a victim as quickly as this.

"Ormiston! Ormiston!" he called, between grief and dismay, as he raised him in his arms, with his hand over the stilled heart; but Ormiston answered not, and the heart gave no pulsation beneath his fingers. He tore open his doublet, as the thought of the plague flashed through his mind, but no plague-spot was to be seen, and it was quite evident, from the appearance of the face, that he had not died of the distemper, neither was there any wound or mark to show that he had met his end violently. Yet the cold, white face was convulsed, as if he had died in throes of agony, the hands were clenched, till the nails sank into the flesh; and that was the only outward sign or token that he had suffered in expiring.

Sir Norman was completely at a lose, and half beside himself, with a thousand conflicting feelings of sorrow, astonishment, and mystification. The rapid and exciting events of the night had turned his head into a mental chaos, as they very well might, but he still had commonsense enough left to know that something must be done about this immediately. He knew the best place to take Ormiston was to the nearest apothecary's shop, which establishments were generally open, and filled, the whole livelong night, by the sick and their friends. As he was meditating whether or not to call the surly watchman to help him carry the body, a pest-cart came, providentially, along, and the driver-seeing a young man bending over a prostrate form-guessed at once what was the matter, and came to a halt.

"Another one!" he said, coming leisurely up, and glancing at the lifeless form with a very professional eye. "Well, I think there is room for another one in the cart; so bear a hand, friend, and let us have him out of this."

"You are mistaken!" said Sir Norman sharply, "he has not died of the plague. I am not even certain whether he is dead at all."

The driver looked at Sir Norman, then stooped down and touched Ormiston's icy face, and listened to hear him breathe. He stood up after a moment, with some thing like a small laugh.

"If he's alive," he said, turning to go, "then I never saw any one dead! Good night, sir, I wish you joy when you bring him to."

"Stay!" exclaimed the young man, "I wish you to assist me in bringing him to yonder apothecary's shop, and you may have this for your pains."

"This" proved to be a talisman of alacrity; for the man pocketed it, and briskly laid hold of Ormiston by the feet, while Sir Norman wrapped his cloak reverently about him and took him by the shoulders. In this style his body was conveyed to the apothecary's shop which they found half full of applicants for medicine, among whom their entrance with the corpse produced no greater sensation than a momentary stare. The attire and bearing of Sir Norman proving him to be something different from their usual class of visitors, bringing one of the drowsy apprentices immediately to his side, inquiring what were his orders.

"A private room, and your master's attendance directly," was the authoritative reply.

Both were to be had; the former, a hole in the wall behind the shop; the latter, a pallid, cadaverous-looking person, with the air of one who had been dead a week, thought better of it and rose again. There was a long table in the aforesaid hole in the wall, bearing a strong family likeness to a dissecting-table; upon which the stark figure was laid, and the pest-cart driver disappeared. The apothecary held a mirror close to the face; applied his ear to the pulse and heart; held a pocket-mirror over his mouth, looked at it; shook his head; and set down the candle with decision.

"The man is dead, sir!" was his criticism, "dead as a door nail! All the medicine in the shop wouldn't kindle one spark of life in such ashes!"

"At least, try! Try something--bleeding for instance," suggested Sir Norman.

Again the apothecary examined the body, and again he shook his head dolefully.

"It's no use, sir: but, if it will please, you can try."

The right arm was bared; the lancet inserted, one or two black drops sluggishly followed and nothing more.

"It's all a waste of time, you see," remarked the apothecary, wiping his dreadful little weapon, "he's as dead as ever I saw anybody in my life! How did he come to his end, sir--not by the plague?"

"I don't know," said Sir Norman, gloomily. "I wish you would tell me that."

"Can't do it, sir; my skill doesn't extend that far. There is no plague-spot or visible wound or bruise on the person; so he must have died of some internal complaint--probably disease of the heart."

"Never knew him to have such a thing," said Sir Norman, sighing. "It is very mysterious and very dreadful, and notwithstanding all you have said, I cannot believe him dead. Can he not remain here until morning, at least?"

The starved apothecary looked at him out of a pair of hollow, melancholy eyes.

"Gold can do anything," was his plaintive reply.

"I understand. You shall have it. Are you sure you can do nothing more for him?"

"Nothing whatever, sir; and excuse me, but there are customers in the shop, and I must leave, sir."

Which he did, accordingly; and Sir Norman was left alone with all that remained of him who, two hours before, was his warm friend. He could scarcely believe that it was the calm majesty of death that so changed the expression of that white face, and yet, the longer he looked, the more deeply an inward conviction assured him that it was so. He chafed the chilling hands and face, he applied hartshorn and burnt feathers to the nostrils, but all these applications, though excellent in their way, could not exactly raise the dead to life, and, in this case, proved a signal, failure.