The Midnight Queen

"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 so sure she was

within the house, that he never thought of looking for her elsewhere;

and when, at the expiration of what seemed to him a century or two,

but which in reality was about a quarter of an hour, there was a soft

rustling of drapery behind him, and the sweetest of voices sounded in

his ear, it fairly made him bound.