The Midnight Queen | Page 6

foretold
that it would last for many months yet; and since one prophecy has
come true, I see no reason why the other should not."
"Except the simple one that there would be nobody left alive to take it.
All London will be lying in the plague-pits by that time."

"A pleasant prospect; but a true one, I have no doubt. And, as I have no
ambition to be hurled headlong into one of those horrible holes, I shall
leave town altogether in a few days. And, Ormiston, I would strongly
recommend you to follow my example."
"Not I!" said Ormiston, in a tone of gloomy resolution. "While La
Masque stays, so will I."
"And perhaps die of the plague in a week."
"So be it! I don't fear the plague half as much as I do the thought of
losing her!"
Again Sir Norman stared.
"Oh, I see! It's a hopeless case! Faith, I begin to feel curious to see this
enchantress, who has managed so effectually to turn your brain. When
did you see her last?"
"Yesterday," said Ormiston, with a deep sigh. "And if she were made
of granite, she could not be harder to me than she is!"
"So she doesn't care about you, then?"
"Not she! She has a little Blenheim lapdog, that she loves a thousand
times more than she ever will me!"
"Then what an idiot you are, to keep haunting her like her shadow!
Why don't you be a man, and tear out from your heart such a goddess?"
"Ah! that's easily said; but if you were in my place, you'd act exactly as
I do."
"I don't believe it. It's not in me to go mad about anything with a
masked face and a marble heart. If I loved any woman - which, thank
Fortune! at this present time I do not - and she had the bad taste not to
return it, I should take my hat, make her a bow, and go directly and
love somebody else made of flesh and blood, instead of cast iron! You
know the old song, Ormiston:

'If she be not fair for me What care I how fair she be!'"
"Kingsley, you know nothing about it!" said Ormiston, impatiently. "So
stop talking nonsense. If you are cold-blooded, I am not; and - I love
her!"
Sir Norman slightly shrugged his shoulders, and flung his smoked-out
weed into a heap of fire-wood.
"Are we near her house?" he asked. "Yonder is the bridge."
"And yonder is the house," replied Ormiston, pointing to a large ancient
building - ancient even for those times - with three stories, each
projecting over the other. "See! while the houses on either side are
marked as pest-stricken, hers alone bears no cross. So it is: those who
cling to life are stricken with death: and those who, like me, are
desperate, even death shuns."
"Why, my dear Ormiston, you surely are not so far gone as that? Upon
my honor, I had no idea you were in such a bad way."
"I am nothing but a miserable wretch! and I wish to Heaven I was in
yonder dead-cart, with the rest of them - and she, too, if she never
intends to love me!"
Ormiston spoke with such fierce earnestness, that there was no
doubting his sincerity; and Sir Norman became profoundly shocked -
so much so, that he did not speak again until they were almost at the
door. Then he opened his lips to ask, in a subdued tone:
"She has predicted the future for you - what did she foretell?"
"Nothing good; no fear of there being anything in store for such an
unlucky dog as I am."
"Where did she learn this wonderful black art of hers?"
"In the East, I believe. She has been there and all over the world; and
now visits England for the first time."

"She has chosen a sprightly season for her visit. Is she not afraid of the
plague, I wonder?"
"No; she fears nothing," said Ormiston, as he knocked loudly at the
door. "I begin to believe she is made of adamant instead of what other
women are made of."
"Which is a rib, I believe," observed Sir Norman, thoughtfully. "And
that accounts, I dare say, for their being of such a crooked and
cantankerous nature. They're a wonderful race women are; and for what
Inscrutable reason it has pleased Providence to create them - "
The opening of the door brought to a sudden end this little touch of
moralizing, and a wrinkled old porter thrust out a very withered and
unlovely face.
"La Masque at home?" inquired Ormiston, stepping in, without
ceremony.
The old man nodded, and pointed up stairs; and with a "This way,
Kingsley," Ormiston sprang lightly