Ordering one of his attendants to precede him with a light, the dwarf
skipped jauntily away, to gloat over his victim. He reached the dungeon
door, which the guards, with some trepidation in their countenance, as
they thought of what his highness would say when he found her majesty
locked in with the prisoner, threw open.
"Come forth, Sir Norman Kingsley!" shouted the dwarf, rushing in. "Come
forth and meet your doom!"
But no Sir Norman Kingsley obeyed the pleasant invitation, and a dull
echo from the darkness alone answered him. There was a lamp burning on
the floor, and near it lay a form, shining and specked with white in the
gloom. He made for it between fear and fury, but there was something
red and slippery on the ground, in which his foot slipped, and he
fell. Simultaneously there was a wild cry from the two guards and the
attendant, that was echoed by a perfect screech of rage from the dwarf,
as on looking down he beheld Queen Miranda lying on the floor in the
pool of blood, and apparently quite dead, and Sir Norman Kingsley gone.