"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.