The Midnight Queen by May Agnes Fleming (first e reader TXT) 📕

me, and I walked away in such a frenzy of delight that I couldn't have told whether I was treading this earth or the shining shares of the seventh heaven, when suddenly there flew past me a figure all in white--the figure of a bride, Kingsley, pursued by an excited mob. We were both near the river, and the first thing I knew, she was plump into it, with the crowd behind, yelling to stop her, that she was ill of the plague."

"Great Heaven! and was she drowned?"

"No, though it was not her fault. The Earl of Rochester and his page--you remember that page, I fancy--were out in their barge, and the earl picked her up. Then I got a boat, set out after her, claimed her--for I recognized her, of course--brought her ashore, and deposited her safe and sound in her own house. What do you think of that?"

"Ormiston," said Norman, catching him by the shoulder, with a very excited face, "is this true?"

"True as preaching, Kingsley, every word of it! And the most extraordinary part of the business is, that her dip in cold water has effectually cured her of the plague; not a trace of it remains."

Sir Norman dropped his hand, and walked on, staring straight before him, perfectly speechless. In fact, no known language in the world could have done justice to his feelings at that precise period; for three times that night, in three different shapes, had he seen this same Leoline, and at the same moment he was watching her decked out in royal state in the rain, Ormiston had probably been assisting her from her cold bath in the river Thames.

Astonishment and consternation are words altogether too feeble to express his state of mind; but one idea remained clear and bright amid all his mental chaos, and that was, that the Leoline he had fallen in love with dead, was awaiting him, alive and well, in London.

"Well," said Ormiston, "you don't speak! What do you think of all this?"

"Think! I can't think--I've got past that long ago!" replied his friend, hopelessly. "Did you really say Leoline was alive and well?"

"And waiting for you--yes, I did, and I repeat it; and the sooner you get back to town, the sooner you will see her; so don't loiter--"

"Ormiston, what do you mean! Is it possible I can see her to-night?"

"Yes, it is; the dear creature is waiting for you even now. You see, after we got to the house, and she had consented to become a little rational, mutual explanations ensued, by which it appeared she had ran away from Sir Norman Kingsley's in a state of frenzy, had jumped into the river in a similarly excited state of mind, and was most anxious to go down on her pretty knees and thank the aforesaid Sir Norman for saving her life. What could any one as gallant as myself do under these circumstances, but offer to set forth in quest of that gentleman? And she promptly consented to sit up and wait his coming, and dismissed me with her blessing. And, Kingsley, I've a private notion she is as deeply affected by you as you are by her; for, when I mentioned your name, she blushed, yea, verily to the roots of her hair; and when she spoke of you, couldn't so much as look me in the face--which is, yea must own, a very bad symptom."

"Nonsense!" said Sir Norman, energetically. And had it been daylight, his friend would have seen that he blushed almost as extensively as the lady. "She doesn't know me."

"Ah, doesn't she, though? That shows all you know about it! She has seen you go past the window many and many a time; and to see you," said Ormiston, making a grimace undercover of the darkness, "is to love! She told me so herself."

"What! That she loved me!" exclaimed Sir Norman, his notions of propriety to the last degree shocked by such a revelation.

"Not altogether, she only looked that; but she said she knew you well by sight, and by heart, too, as I inferred from her countenance when she said it. There now, don't make me talk any more, for I have told you everything I know, and am about hoarse with my exertions."

"One thing only--did she tell you who she was?"

"No, except that her name was Leoline, and nothing else--which struck me as being slightly improbable. Doubtless, she will tell you everything, and one piece of advice I may venture to give you, which is, you may propose as soon as you like without fear of rejection. Here we are at the Golden Crown, so go in and get your horse, and let us be off."

All this time Ormiston had been leading his own horse by the bridle, and as Sir Norman silently complied with this suggestion, in five minutes more they were in their saddles, and galloping at breakneck speed toward the city. To tell the truth, one was not more inclined for silence than the other, and the profoundest and thoughtfulest silence was maintained till they reached it. One was thinking of Leoline, the other of La Masque, and both were badly in love, and just at that particular moment very happy. Of course the happiness of people in that state never lasts longer than half an hour at a stretch, and then they are plunged back again into misery and distraction; but while it does last, it in, very intense and delightful indeed.

Our two friends having drained the bitten, had got to the bottom of the cup, and neither knew that no sooner were the sweets swallowed, than it was to be replenished with a doubly-bitter dose. Neither of them dismounted till they reached the house of Leoline, and there Sir Norman secured his horse, and looked up at it with a beating heart. Not that it was very unusual for his heart to beat, seeing it never did anything else; but on that occasion its motion was so mush accelerated, that any doctor feeling his pulse might have justly set him down as a bad case of heart-disease. A small, bright ray of light streamed like a beacon of hope from an upper window, and the lover looked at it as a clouded mariner might at the shining of the North Star.

"Are you coming in, Ormiston?" he inquired, feeling, for the first time in his life, almost bashful. "It seems to me it would only be right, you know."

"I don't mind going in and introducing` you," said Ormiston; "but after you have been delivered over, you may fight poor own battles, and take care of yourself. Come on."

The door was unfastened, and Ormiston sprang upstairs with the air of a man-quite at home, followed more decorously by Sir Norman. The door of the lady's room stood ajar, as he had left it, and in answer to his "tapping at the chamber-door," a sweet feminine voice called "come in."

Ormiston promptly obeyed, and the next instant they were in the room, and in the presence of the dead bride. Certainly she did not look dead, but very much alive, just then, as she sat in an easy-chair, drawn up before the dressing-table, on which stood the solitary lamp that illumed the chamber. In one hand she held a small mirror, or, as it was then called, a "sprunking-glass," in which she was contemplating her own beauty, with as much satisfaction as any other pretty girl might justly do. She had changed her drenched dress during Ormiston's absence, and now sat arrayed in a swelling amplitude of rose-colored satin, her dark hair clasped and bound by a circle of milk-white pearls, and her pale, beautiful face looking ten degrees more beautiful than ever, in contrast with the bright rose-silk, shining dark hair, and rich white jewels. She rose up as they entered, and came forward with the same glow on her face and the same light in her eyes that one of them had seen before, and stood with drooping eyelashes, lovely as a vision in the centre of the room.

"You see I have lost no time in obeying your ladyship's commands," began Ormiston, bowing low. "Mistress Leoline, allow me to present Sir Norman Kingsley."

Sir Norman Kingsley bent almost as profoundly before the lady as the lord high chancellor had done before Queen Miranda; and the lady courtesied, in return, until her pink-satin skirt ballooned out all over the floor. It was quite an affecting tableau. And so Ormiston felt, as he stood eyeing it with preternatural gravity.

"I owe my life to Sir Norman Kingsley," murmured the faint, sweet voice of the lady, "and could not rest until I had thanked him. I have no words to say how deeply thankful and grateful I am."

"Fairest Leoline! one word from such lips would be enough to repay me, had I done a thousandfold more," responded Norman, laying his hand on his heart, with another deep genuflection.

"Very pretty indeed!" remarked Ormiston to himself, with a little approving nod; "but I'm afraid they won't be able to keep it up, and go on talking on stilts like that, till they have finished. Perhaps they may get on all the better if I take myself off, there being always one too many in a case like this." Then aloud: "Madame, I regret that I am obliged to depart, having a most particular appointment; but, doubtless, my friend will be able to express himself without my assistance. I have the honor to wish you both good-night."

With which neat and appropriate speech, Ormiston bowed himself out, and was gone before Leoline could detain him, even if she wished to do so. Probably, however, she thought the care of one gentleman sufficient responsibility at once; and she did not look very seriously distressed by his departure; and, the moment he disappeared, Sir Norman brightened up wonderfully.

It is very discomposing to the feelings to make love in the presence of a third party; and Sir Norman had no intention of wasting his time on anything, and went at it immediately. Taking her hand, with a grace that would have beaten Sir Charles Grandison or Lord Chesterfield all to nothing, he led her to a couch, and took a seat as near her as was at all polite or proper, considering the brief nature of their acquaintance. The curtains were drawn; the lamp shed a faint light; the house was still, and there was no intrusive papa to pounce down upon them; the lady was looking down, and seemed in no way haughty or discouraging, and Sir Norman's spirits went up with a jump to boiling-point.

Yet the lady, with all her pretty bashfulness, was the first to speak.

"I'm afraid, Sir Norman, you must think this a singular hour to come here; but, in these dreadful times, we cannot tell if we may live from one moment to another; and I should not like to die, or have you die, without my telling, and you hearing, all my gratitude. For I do assure you, Sir Norman," said the lady, lifting her dark eyes with the prettiest and moat bewitching earnestness, "that I am grateful, though I cannot find words to express it."

"Madame, I would not listen to you it you would; for I have done nothing to deserve thanks. I wish I could tell you what I felt when Ormiston told me you were alive and safe."

"You are very kind, but pray do not call me madame. Say Leoline!"

"A thousand thanks, dear Leoline!" exclaimed Sir Norman, raising her