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

had not George arrested him by a loud shout.

"I beg your pardon, Sir Norman," he exclaimed, as that gentleman turned his distracted face; "but, it seems to me, you are running away. Here is your horse; and allow me to say, unless we hurry we will scarcely reach the count by sunrise."

Sir Norman leaned against his horse, and shaded his eyes with his hand, shuddering like one in an ague.

"Why did that woman leap into the plague-pit?" inquired George, looking at him curiously. "Was it not the sorceress, La Masque?"

"Yes, yes. Do not ask me any questions now," replied Sir Norman, in a smothered voice, and with an impatient wave of his hand.

"Whatever you please, sir," said George, with the flippancy of his class; "but still I must repeat, if you do not mount instantly, we will be late; and my master, the count, is not one who brooks delay."

The young knight vaulted into the saddle without a word, and started off at a break-neck pace into the city. George, almost unable to keep up with him, followed instead of leading, rather skeptical in his own mind whether he were not riding after a moon-struck lunatic. Once or twice he shouted out a sharp-toned inquiry as to whether he knew where he was going, and that they were taking the wrong way altogether; to all of which Sir Norman deigned not the slightest reply, but rode more and more recklessly on. There were but few people abroad at that hour; indeed, for that matter, the streets of London, in the dismal summer of 1665, were, comparatively speaking, always deserted; and the few now wending their way homeward were tired physicians and plague-nurses from the hospitals, and several hardy country folks, with more love of lucre than fear of death bending their steps with produce to the market-place. These people, sleepy and pallid in the gray haze of daylight, stared in astonishment after the two furious riders; and windows were thrown open, and heads thrust out to see what the unusual thunder of horses' hoofs at that early hour meant. George followed dauntlessly on, determined to do it or die in the attempt; and if he had ever heard of the Flying Dutchman, would undoubtedly have come to the conclusion that he was just then following his track on dry land. But, unlike the hapless Vanderdecken, Sir Norman came to a halt at last, and that so suddenly that his horse stood on his beam ends, and flourished his two fore limbs in the atmosphere. It was before La Masque's door; and Sir Norman was out of the saddle in a flash, and knocking like a postman with the handle of his whip on the door. The thundering reveille rang through the house, making it shake to its centre, and hurriedly brought to the door, the anatomy who acted as guardian-angel of the establishment.

"La Masque is not at home, and I cannot admit you," was his sharp salute.

"Then I shall just take the trouble of admitting myself," said Sir Norman, shortly.

And without further ceremony, he pushed aside the skeleton and entered. But that outraged servitor sprang in his path, indignant and amazed.

"No, sir; I cannot permit it. I do not know you; and it is against all orders to admit strangers in La Masque's absence."

"Bah! you old simpleton!" remarked Sir Norman, losing his customary respect for old age in his impatience, "I have La Masque's order for what I am about to do. Get along with you directly, will you? Show me to her private room, and no nonsense!"

He tapped his sword-hilt significantly as he spoke, and that argument proved irresistible. Grumbling, in low tones, the anatomy stalked up-stairs; and the other followed, with very different feelings from those with which he had mounted that staircase last. His guide paused in the hall above, with his hand on the latch of a door.

"This is her private room, is it!" demanded Sir Norman.

"Yes."

"Just stand aside, then, and let me pass."

The room he entered was small, simply furnished, and seemed to answer as bed-chamber and study, all in one. There was a writing-table under a window, covered with books, and he glanced at them with some curiosity. They were classics, Greek and Latin, and other little known tongues--perhaps Sanscrit and Chaldaic, French belles lettres, novels, and poetry, and a few rare old English books. There were no papers, however, and those were what he was in search of; so spying a drawer in the table, he pulled it hastily open. The eight that met his eyes fairly dazzled him. It was full of jewels of incomparable beauty and value, strewn as carelessly about as if they were valueless. The blaze of gems at the midnight court seemed to him as nothing compared with the Golconda, the Valley of Diamonds shooting forth sparks of rainbow-fire before him now. Around one magnificent diamond necklace was entwined a scrap of paper, on which was written:

"The family jewels of the Montmorencis. To be given to my sisters when I am dead."

That settled their destiny. All this blaze of diamonds, rubies, and opals were Leoline's; and with the energetic rapidity characteristic of our young friend that morning, he swept them out on the table, and resumed his search for papers. No document was there to reward his search, but the brief one twined round the necklace; and he was about giving up in despair, when a small brass slide in one corner caught his eye. Instantly he was at it, trying it every way, shoving it out and in, and up and down, until at last it yielded to his touch, disclosing an inner drawer, full of papers and parchments. One glance showed them to be what he was in search of--proofs of Leoline and Hubert's identity, with the will of the marquis, their father, and numerous other documents relative to his wealth and estates. These precious manuscripts he rolled together in a bundle, and placed carefully in his doublet, and then seizing a beautifully-wrought brass casket, that stood beneath the table, he swept the jewels in, secured it, and strapped it to his belt. This brisk and important little affair being over, he arose to go, and in turning, saw the skeleton porter standing in the door-way, looking on in speechless dismay.

"It's all right my ancient friend!" observed Sir Norman, gravely. "These papers must go before the king, and these jewels to their proper owner."

"Their proper owner!" repeated the old man, shrilly; "that is La Masque. Thief-robber-housebreaker--stop!"

"My good old friend, you will do yourself a mischief if you bawl like that. Undoubtedly these things were La Masque's, but they are so no longer, since La Masque herself is among the things that were!"

"You shall not go!" yelled the old man, trembling with rage and anger. "Help! help! help!"

"You noisy old idiot!" cried Sir Norman, losing all patience, "I will throw you out of the window if you keep up such a clamor as this. I tell you La Masque is dead!"

At this ominous announcement, the ghastly porter fell back, and became, if possible, a shade more ghastly than was his wont.

"Dead and buried!" repeated Sir Norman, with gloomy sternness, "and there will be somebody else coming to take possession shortly. How many more servants are there here beside yourself?"

"Only one, sir--my wife Joanna. In mercy's name, sir, do not turn us out in the streets at this dreadful time!"

"Not I! You and your wife Joanna may stagnate here till you blue-mold, for me. But keep the door fast, my good old friend, and admit no strangers, but those who can tell you La Masque is dead!"

With which parting piece of advice Sir Norman left the house, and joined George, who sat like an effigy before the door, in a state of great mental wrath, and who accosted him rather suddenly the moment he made his appearance.

"I tell you what, Sir Norman Kingsley, if you have many more morning calls to make, I shall beg leave to take my departure. As it is, I know we are behind time, and his ma--the count, I mean, is not one who it accustomed or inclined to be kept waiting."

"I am quite at your service now," said Sir Norman, springing on horseback; "so away with you, quick as you like."

George wanted no second order. Before the words were well out of his companion's mouth, he was dashing away like a bolt from a bow, as furiously as if on a steeple-chase, with Sir Norman close at his heels; and they rode, flushed and breathless, with their steeds all a foaming, into the court-yard of the royal palace at Whitehall, just as the early rising sun was showing his florid and burning visage above the horizon.

*****

The court-yard, unlike the city streets, swarmed with busy life. Pages, and attendants, and soldiers, moving hither and thither, or lounging about, preparing for the morning's journey to Oxford. Among the rest Sir Norman observed Hubert, lying very much at his ease wrapped in his cloak, on the ground, and chatting languidly with a pert and pretty attendant of the fair Mistress Stuart. He cut short his flirtation, however, abruptly enough, and sprang to his feet as he saw Sir Norman, while George immediately darted off and disappeared from the palace.

"Am I late Hubert?" said his hurried questioner, as he drew the lad's arm within his own, and led him off out of hearing.

"I think not. The count," said Hubert, with laughing emphasis, "has not been visible since he entered yonder doorway, and there has been no message that I have heard of. Doubtless, now that George has arrived, the message will soon be here, for the royal procession starts within half an hour."

"Are you sure there is no trick, Hubert? Even now he may be with Leoline!"

Hubert shrugged his shoulders.

"He maybe; we must take our chance for that; but we have his royal word to the contrary. Not that I have much faith in that!" said Hubert.

"If he were king of the world instead of only England," cried Sir Norman, with flashing eyes, "he shall not have Leoline while I wear a sword to defend her!"

"Regicide!" exclaimed Hubert, holding up both hands in affected horror. "Do my ears deceive me Is this the loyal and chivalrous Sir Norman Kingsley, ready to die for king and country--"

"Stuff and nonsense!" interrupted Sir Norman, impatiently. "I tell you any one, be he whom he may, that attempts to take Leoline from me, must reach her over my dead body!"

"Bravo! You ought to be a Frenchman, Sir Norman! And what if the lady herself, finding her dazzling suitor drop his barnyard feathers, and soar over her head in his own eagle plumes, may not give you your dismissal, and usurp the place of pretty Madame Stuart."

"You cold-blooded young villain! if you insinuate such a thing again, I'll throttle you! Leoline loves me, and me alone!"

"Doubtless she thinks so; but she has yet to learn she has a king for a suitor!"

"Bah! You are nothing but a heartless cynic," said Sir Norman, yet with an anxious and irritated flush on his face, too: "What do you know of love?"

"More than you think, as pretty Mariette yonder could depose, if put upon oath. But seriously,