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.




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