The Midnight Queen

"I know that lady, my lord! She is a friend of mine, and you must give

her to me!"

"Is it you, Ormiston? Why what brings you here alone on the river, at

this hour?"

"I have come for her," said Ormiston, pressing over to lift the lady.

"May I beg you to assist me, my lord, in transferring her to my boat?"

"You must wait till I see her first," said Rochester, partly raising her

head, and holding a lamp close to her face, "as I have picked her out, I

think I deserve it. Heavens! what an extraordinary likeness!"

The earl had glanced at the lady, then at his page, again at the lady,

and lastly at Ormiston, his handsome countenance fall of the most

unmitigated wonder. "To whom?" asked Ormiston, who had very little need

to inquire.

"To Hubert, yonder. Why, don't you see it yourself? She might be his

twin-sister!"

"She might be, but as she is not, you will have the goodness to let me

take charge of her. She has escaped from her friends, and I meet bring

her back to them."

He half lifted her as he spoke; and the boatman, glad enough to get rid

of one sick of the plague, helped her into the batteau. The lady was

not insensible, as might be supposed, after her cold bath, but extremely

wide-awake, and gazing around her with her great, black, shining eyes.

But she made no resistance; either she was too faint or frightened

for that, and suffered herself to be hoisted about, "passive to all

changes." Ormiston spread his cloak in the stern of the boat, and

laid her tenderly upon it, and though the beautiful, wistful eyes were

solemnly and unwinkingly fixed on his face, the pale, sweet lips parted

not--uttered never a word. The wet bridal robes were drenched and

dripping about her, the long dark hair hung in saturated masses over her

neck and arms, and contrasted vividly with a face, Ormiston thought at

once, the whitest, most beautiful, and most stonelike he had ever seen.

"Thank you, my man; thank you, my lord," said Ormiston, preparing to

push off.

Rochester, who had been leaning from the barge, gazing in mingled

curiosity, wonder, and admiration at the lovely face, turned now to her

champion.

"Who is she, Ormiston?" he said, persuasively.

But Ormiston only laughed, and rowed energetically for the shore. The

crowd was still lingering; and half a dozen hands were extended to draw

the boat up to the landing. He lifted the light form in his arms and

bore it from the boat; but before he could proceed farther with his

armful of beauty, a faint but imperious voice spoke: "Please put me

down. I am not a baby, and can walk myself."