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

and inform him of all you've seen and heard here?"

She looked at him with an eagerness that was almost fierce; and in spite of her steady voice, there was something throbbing and quivering, deadly and terrible, in her upturned face. The form she looked at was erect and immovable, the eyes were quietly resolved, the mouth half-pityingly, half-sadly smiling.

"Are you aware, dear lady, what the result of such a step would be?"

"Death!" she said, coldly.

"Death, transportation, or life-long imprisonment to them all--misery and disgrace to many a noble house; for some I saw there were once friends of mine, with families I honor and respect. Could I bring the dwarf and his attendant imps to Tyburn, and treat them to a hempen cravat, I would do it without remorse--though the notion of being informer, even then, would not be very pleasant; but as it is, I cannot be the death of one without ruining all, and as I told you, some of those were once my friends. No, madame, I cannot do it. I have but once to die and I prefer death here, to purchasing life at such a price."

*****

There was a short silence, during which they gazed into each other's eyes ominously, and one was about as colorless as the other.

"You refuse?" she coldly said.

"I must! But if you can save my life, as you say, why not do it, and fly with me? You will find me the truest and most grateful of friends, while life remains."

"You are very kind; but I want no friendship, Sir Norman--nothing but revenge! As to escaping, I could have done that any time since we came here, for I have found out a secret means of exit from each of these vaults, that they know nothing of. But I have staid to see him dead at my feet--if not by my hand, at least by my command; and since you will not do it, I will make the attempt myself. Farewell, Sir Norman Kingsley; before many minutes you will be a corpse, and your blood be upon yourself!"

She gave him a glance as coldly fierce as her dagger's glance, and turned to go, when he stepped hastily forward, and interposed:

"Miranda--Miranda--you are crazed! Stop and tell me what you intend to do."

"What you feared to attempt," she haughtily replied; "Sheathe this dagger in his demon heart!"

"Miranda, give me the dagger. You must not, you shall not, commit such a crime!"

"Shall not?" she uttered scornfully. "And who are you that dares to speak to me like this? Stand aside, coward, and let me pass!"

"Pardon me, but I cannot, while you hold that dagger. Give it to me, and you shall go free; but while you hold it with this intention, for your own sake, I will detain you till some one comes."

She uttered a low, fierce cry, and struck at him with it, but he caught her hand, and with sudden force snatched it from her. In doing so he was obliged to hold it with its point toward her, and struggling for it in a sort of frenzy, as he raised the hand that held it, she slipped forward and it was driven half-way to the hilt in her side. There was a low, grasping cry--a sudden clasping of both hands over her heart, a sway, a reel, and she fell headlong prostrate on the loathsome floor.

Sir Norman stood paralyzed. She half raised herself on her elbow, drew the dagger from the wound, and a great jet of blood shot up and crimsoned her hands. She did not faint--there seemed to be a deathless energy within her that chained life strongly in its place--she only pressed both hands hard over the wound, and looked mournfully and reproachfully up in his face. Those beautiful, sad, solemn dyes, void of everything savage and fierce, were truly Leoline's eyes now.

Through all his first shock of horror, another thing dawned on his mind; he had looked on this scene before. It was the second view in La Masque's caldron, and but one remained to be verified.

The next instant, he was down on his knees in a paroxysm of grief and despair.

"What have I done? what have I done?" was his cry.

"Listen!" she said, faintly raising one finger. "Do you hear that?"

Distant steps were echoing along the passage. Yes; he heard them, and knew what they were.

"They are coming to lead you to death!" she said, with some of her old fire; "but I will baffle them yet. Take that lamp--go to the wall yonder, and in that corner, near the floor, you will see a small iron ring. Pull it--it does not require much force--and you will find an opening leading through another vault; at the end there is a broken flight of stairs, mount them, and you will find yourself in the same place from which you fell. Fly, fly! There is not a second to lose!"

"How can I fly? how can I leave you dying here?"

"I am not dying!" she wildly cried, lifting both hands from the wound to push him away, while the blood flowed over the floor. "But we will both die if you stay. Go-go-go!"

The footsteps had paused st his door. The bolts were beginning to be withdrawn. He lifted the lamp, flew across his prison, found the ring, and took a pull at it with desperate strength. Part of what appeared to be the solid wall drew out, disclosing an aperture through which he could just squeeze sideways. Quick as thought he was through, forgetting the lamp in his haste. The portion of the wall slid noiselessly back, just as the prison door was thrown open, and the dwarfs voice was heard, socially inviting him, like Mrs. Bond's ducks, to come and be killed.

Some people talk of darkness so palpable that it may be felt, and if ever any one was qualified to tell from experience what it felt like, Sir Norman was in that precise condition at that precise period. He groped his way through the blind blackness along what seemed an interminable distance, and stumbled, at last, over the broken stairs at the end. With some difficult, and at the serious risk of his jugular, he mounted them, and found himself, as Miranda had stated, in a place he knew very well. Once here he allowed no grass to grow under him feet; and, in five minutes after, to his great delight, he found himself where he had never hoped to be again--in the serene moonlight and the open air, fetterless and free.

His horse was still where he had left him, and in a twinkling he was on his back, and dashing away to the city, to love--to Leoline!


CHAPTER XV. LEOLINE'S VISITORS.

If things were done right--but they are not and, never will be, while this whirligig world of mistakes spins round, and all Adam's children, to the end of the chapter, will continue sinning to-day and repenting tomorrow, falling the next and bewailing it the day after. If Leoline had gone to bed directly, like a good, dutiful little girl, as Sir Norman ordered her, she would have saved herself a good deal of trouble and tears; but Leoline and sleep were destined to shake hands and turn their backs on each other that night. It was time for all honest folks to be in bed, and the dark-eyed beauty knew it too, but she had no notion of going, nevertheless. She stood in the centre of the room, where he had left her, with a spot like a scarlet roseberry on either cheek; a soft half-smile on the perfect mouth, and a light unexpressibly tender and dreamy, in those artesian wells of beauty--her eyes. Most young girls of green and tender years, suffering from "Love's young dream," and that sort of thing, have just that soft, shy, brooding look, whenever their thoughts happen to turn to their particular beloved; and there are few eyes so ugly that it does not beautify, even should they be as cross as two sticks. You should have seen Leoline standing in the centre of her pretty room, with her bright rose-satin glancing and glittering, and flowing over rug and mat; with her black waving hair clustering and curling like shining floss silk; with a rich white shimmer of pearls on the pale smooth forehead and large beautiful arms. She did look irresistibly bewitching beyond doubt; and it was just as well for Sir Norman's peace of mind that he did not see her, for he was bad enough without that. So she stood thinking tenderly of him for a half-hour or so, quite undisturbed by the storm; and how strange it was that she had risen up that very morning expecting to be one man's bride, and that she should rise up the next, expecting to be another's. She could not realize it at all; and with a little sigh-half pleasure, half presentiment--she walked to the window, drew the curtain, and looked out at the night. All was peaceful and serene; the moon was fall to overflowing, and a great deal of extra light ran over the brim; quite a quantity of stars were out, and were winking pleasantly down at the dark little planet below, that went round, and round, with grim stoicism, and paid no attention to anybody's business but its own. She saw the heaps of black, charred ashes that the rush of rain had quenched; she saw the still and empty street; the frowning row of gloomy houses opposite, and the man on guard before one of them. She had watched that man all day, thinking, with a sick shudder, of the plague-stricken prisoners he guarded, and reading its piteous inscription, "Lord have mercy on us!" till the words seemed branded on her brain. While she looked now, an upper window was opened, a night-cap was thrust out and a voice from its cavernous depths hailed the guard.

"Robert! I say, Robert!"

"Well!" said Robert, looking up.

"Master and missus be gone at last, and the rest won't live till morning."

"Won't they?" said Robert, phlegmatically; "what a pity! Got 'em ready, and I'll stop the dead-cart when it comes round."

Just as he spoke, the well-known rattle of wheels, the loud ringing of the bell, and the monotonous cry of the driver, "Bring out your dead! bring out your dead!" echoed on the pale night's silence; and the pest-cart came rumbling and jolting along with its load of death. The watchman hailed the driver, according to promise, and they entered the house together, brought out one long, white figure, and then another, and threw them on top of the ghastly heap.

"We'll have three more for you in on hour of so--don't forget to come round," suggested the watchman.

"All right!" said the driver, as he took his place, whipped his horse, rang his bell, and jogged along nonchalantly to the plague-pit.

Sick at heart, Leoline dropped the curtain, and turned round to see somebody else standing at her elbow. She had been quite alone when she looked out; she was alone no longer; there had been no noise, yet soma one had entered, and was standing beside her. A tall figure, all in black, with its sweeping velvet robes spangled with stars of golden rubies, a perfect figure of incomparable grace and beauty. It had worn a