The Midnight Queen

"Vanity of vanities, all in vanity!" murmured Sir Norman, meditatively.

"Perhaps she is a relative of yours, Master Hubert, since you take such

an interest in her, and she looks so much like you."

"Not that I know of," said Hubert, in his careless way. "I believe I

was born minus those common domestic afflictions, relatives; and I don't

take the slightest interest in her, either; don't think it!"

"Then why are you in search of her?"

"For a very good reason--because I've been ordered to do so."

"By whom--your master?"

"My Lord Rochester," said that nobleman's page, waving off the

insinuation by a motion of his hand and a little displeased frown;

"he picked her up adrift, and being composed of highly inflammable

materials, took a hot and vehement fancy for her, which fact he did not

discover until your friend, Mr. Ormiston, had carried her off."

Sir Norman scowled.

"And so he sent you in search of her, has he?"

"Exactly so; and now you perceive the reason why it is quite important

that I find Mr. Ormiston. We do not know where he has taken her to, but

fancy it must be somewhere near the river."

"You do? I tell you what it is, my boy," exclaimed Sir Norman, suddenly

and in an elevated key, "the best thing you can do is, to go home and

go to bed, and never mind young ladies. You'll catch the plague before

you'll catch this particular young lady--I can tell you that!"

"Monsieur is excited," lisped the lad raining his hat end running his

taper fingers through his glossy, dark curls. "Is she as handsome as

they say she is, I wonder?"

"Handsome!" cried Sir Norman, lighting up with quite a new sensation at

the recollection. "I tell you handsome doesn't begin to describe her!

She is beautiful, lovely, angelic, divine--" Here Sir Norman's litany of

adjectives beginning to give out, he came to a sudden halt, with a face

as radiant as the sky at sunrise.

"Ah! I did not believe them, when they told me she was so much like

me; but if she in as near perfection as you describe, I shall begin to

credit it. Strange, is it not, that nature should make a duplicate of

her greatest earthly chef d'oeuvre?"

"You conceited young jackanapes!" growled Sir Norman, in deep

displeasure. "It is far stranger how such a bundle of vanity can

contrive to live in this work-a-day world. You are a foreigner, I

perceive?"

"Yes, Sir Norman, I am happy to say I am."

"You don't like England, then?"

"I'd be sorry to like it; a dirty, beggarly, sickly place as I ever

saw!"

Sir Norman eyed the slender specimen of foreign manhood, uttering this

sentiment is the sincerest of tones, and let his hand fall heavily on

his shoulder.