I can't say whether the adage! "Faint heart never won fair lady!" was

extant in his time; but the spirit of it certainly was, and Ormiston

determined to prove it. He wanted to see La Masque, and try his fate

once again; and see her he would, if he had to stay there as a sort of

ornamental prop to the house for a week. He knew he might as well look

for a needle in a haystack as his whimsical beloved through the streets

of London--dismal and dark now as the streets of Luxor and Tadmor in

Egypt; and he wisely resolved to spare himself and his Spanish leathers

boots the trial of a one-handed game of "hide-and-go-to-seek." Wisdom,

like Virtue, is its own reward; and scarcely had he come to this

laudable conclusion, when, by the feeble glimmer of the house-lamps, he

saw a figure that made his heart bound, flitting through the night-gloom

toward him. He would have known that figure on the sands of Sahara, in

an Indian jungle, or an American forest--a tall, slight, supple figure,

bending and springing like a bow of steel, queenly and regal as that of

a young empress. It was draped in a long cloak reaching to the ground,

in color as black as the night, and clasped by a jewel whose glittering

flash, he saw even there; a velvet hood of the same color covered the

stately head; and the mask--the tiresome, inevitable mask covered the

beautiful--he was positive it was beautiful--face. He had seen her a

score of times in that very dress, flitting like a dark, graceful ghost

through the city streets, and the sight sent his heart plunging against

his side like an inward sledge-hammer. Would one pulse in her heart stir

ever so faintly at sight of him? Just as he asked himself the question,

and was stepping forward to moot her, feeling very like the country

swain in love--"hot and dry like, with a pain in his side like"--he

suddenly stopped. Another figure came forth from the shadow of an

opposite house, and softly pronounced her name. It was a short figure--a

woman's figure. He could not see the face, and that was an immense

relief to him, and prevented his having jealousy added to his other

pains sad tribulations. La Masque paused as well as he, and her soft

voice softly asked: "Who calls?"

"It is I, madame--Prudence."

"Ah! I am glad to meet you. I have been searching the city through for

you. Where have you been?"

"Madame, I was so frightened that I don't know where I fled to, and

I could scarcely make up my mind to come back at all. I did feel

dreadfully sorry for her, poor thing! but you know, Madame Masque, I

could do nothing for her, and I should not have come back, only I was

afraid of you."




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