The Midnight Queen | Page 5

dashing
street-singer with a cool glance of recognition.
"Very sorry, Nell," he said, in a nonchalant tone, "but I'm afraid I must.
How long have you been here, may I ask?"
"A full hour by St. Paul's; and where has Sir Norman Kingsley been,
may I ask? I thought you were dead of the plague."
"Not exactly. Have you seen - ah! there he is. The very man I want."
With which Sir Norman Kingsley dropped a gold piece into the girl's
extended palm, and pushed on through the crowd up Paul's Walk. A tall,
dark figure was leaning moodily with folded arms, looking fixedly at
the ground, and taking no notice of the busy scene around him until Sir
Norman laid his ungloved and jeweled hand lightly on his shoulder.
"Good morning, Ormiston. I had an idea I would find you here, and -
but what's the matter with you, man? Have you got the plague? or has
your mysterious inamorata jilted you? or what other annoyance has
happened to make you look as woebegone as old King Lear, sent adrift

by his tender daughters to take care of himself?"
The individual addressed lifted his head, disclosing a dark and rather
handsome face, settled now into a look of gloomy discontent. He
slightly raised his hat as he saw who his questioner was.
"Ah! it's you, Sir Norman! I had given up all notion of your coming,
and was about to quit this confounded babel - this tumultuous den of
thieves. What has detained you?"
"I was on duty at Whitehall. Are we not in time to keep our
appointment?"
"Oh, certainly! La Masque is at home to visitors at all hours, day and
night. I believe in my soul she doesn't know what sleep means."
"And you are still as much in love with her as ever, I dare swear! I have
no doubt, now, it was of her you were thinking when I came up.
Nothing else could ever have made you look so dismally woebegone as
you did, when Providence sent me to your relief."
"I was thinking of her," said the young man moodily, and with a
darkening brow.
Sir Norman favored him with a half-amused, half-contemptuous stare
for a moment; then stopped at a huckster's stall to purchase some
cigarettes; lit one, and after smoking for a few minutes, pleasantly
remarked, as if the fact had just struck him:
"Ormiston, you're a fool!"
"I know it!" said Ormiston, sententiously.
"The idea," said Sir Norman, knocking the ashes daintily off the end of
his cigar with the tip of his little finger - "the idea of falling in love with
a woman whose face you have never seen! I can understand a man a
going to any absurd extreme when he falls in love in proper Christian
fashion, with a proper Christian face; but to go stark, staring mad, as

you have done, my dear fellow, about a black loo mask, why - I
consider that a little too much of a good thing! Come, let us go."
Nodding easily to his numerous acquaintances as he went, Sir Norman
Kingsley sauntered leisurely down Paul's Walk, and out through the
great door of the cathedral, followed by his melancholy friend. Pausing
for a moment to gaze at the gorgeous sunset with a look of languid
admiration, Sir Norman passed his arm through that of his friend, and
they walked on at rather a rapid pace, in the direction of old London
Bridge. There were few people abroad, except the watchmen walking
slowly up and down before the plague-stricken houses; but in every
street they passed through they noticed huge piles of wood and coal
heaped down the centre. Smoking zealously they had walked on for a
season in silence, when Ormiston ceased puffing for a moment, to
inquire:
"What are all these for? This is a strange time, I should imagine, for
bonfires."
"They're not bonfires," said Sir Norman; "at least they are not intended
for that; and if your head was not fuller of that masked Witch of Endor
than common sense (for I believe she is nothing better than a witch),
you could not have helped knowing. The Lord Mayor of London has
been inspired suddenly, with a notion, that if several thousand fires are
kindled at once in the streets, it will purify the air, and check the
pestilence; so when St. Paul's tolls the hour of midnight, all these piles
are to be fired. It will be a glorious illumination, no doubt; but as to its
stopping the progress of the plague, I am afraid that it is altogether too
good to be true."
"Why should you doubt it? The plague cannot last forever."
"No. But Lilly, the astrologer, who predicted its coming, also