The Midnight Queen

"Remember your promise, lady, and do not make a noise. We have arrived

at our journey's end, and if you will take my arm, I will lead you

along, instead of carrying you."

Leoline was rather surprised to find the journey so short, but she arose

directly, with silence and dignity--at least with as much of the latter

commodity as could be reasonably expected, considering that boats on

water are rather unsteady things to be dignified in--and was led gently

and with care out of the swaying vessel, and up another flight of

stairs. Then, in a few moments, she was conscious of passing from the

free night air into the closer atmosphere of a house; and in going

through an endless labyrinth of corridors, and passages, and suites of

rooms, and flights of stairs, until she became so extremely tired,

that she stopped with spirited abruptness, and in the plainest possible

English, gave her conductor to understand that they had gone about far

enough for all practical purposes. To which that patient and respectful

individual replied that he was glad to inform her they had but a few

more steps to go, which the next moment proved to be true, for he

stopped and announced that their promenade was over for the night.

"And I suppose I may have the use of my eyes at last?" inquired Leoline,

with more haughtiness than Sir Norman could have believed possible so

gentle a voice could have expressed.

For reply, her companion rapidly untied the bandage, and withdrew it

with a flourish. The dazzling brightness that burst upon her, so blinded

her, that for a moment she could distinguish nothing; and when she

looked round to contemplate her companion, she found him hurriedly

making his exit, and securely locking the door.

The sound of the key turning in the lock gave her a most peculiar

sensation, which none but those who have experienced it can properly

understand. It is not the most comfortable feeling in the world to know

you are a prisoner, even if you have no key turned upon you but the

weather, and your jailer be a high east wind and lashing rain. Leoline's

prison and jailer were something worse; and, for the first time, a chill

of fear and dismay crept icily to the core of her heart. But Leoline had

something of Miranda's courage, as well as her looks and temper; so

she tried to feel as brave as possible, and not think of her unpleasant

predicament while there remained anything else to think about. Perhaps

she might escape, too; and, as this notion struck her, she looked with

eager anxiety, not unmixed with curiosity, at the place where she was.

By this time, her eyes had been accustomed to the light, which proceeded

from a great antique lamp of bronze, pendent by a brass chain from

the ceiling; and she saw she was in a moderately sized and by no means

splendid room. But what struck her most was, that everything had a look

of age about it, from the glittering oak beams of the floor to the

faded ghostly hangings on the wall. There was a bed at one end--a great

spectral ark of a thing, like a mausoleum, with drapery as old and

spectral as that on the walls, and in which she could no more have lain

than in a moth-eaten shroud. The seats and the one table the room held

were of the same ancient and weird pattern, and the sight of them gave

her a shivering sensation not unlike an ague chill. There was but one

door--a huge structure, with shining panels, securely locked; and escape

from that quarter was utterly out of the question. There was one window,

hung with dark curtains of tarnished embroidery, but in pushing them

aside, she met only a dull blank of unlighted glass, for the shutters

were firmly secured without. Altogether, she could not form the

slightest idea where she was; and, with a feeling of utter despair, she

sat down on one of the queer old chairs, with much the same feeling as

if she were sitting in a tomb.