She uttered a low, fierce cry, and struck at him with it, but he caught her hand, and with sudden force s.n.a.t.c.hed it from her. In doing so he was obliged to hold it with its point toward her, and struggling for it in a sort of frenzy, as he raised the hand that held it, she slipped forward and it was driven half-way to the hilt in her side. There was a low, grasping cry--a sudden clasping of both hands over her heart, a sway, a reel, and she fell headlong prostrate on the loathsome floor.

Sir Norman stood paralyzed. She half raised herself on her elbow, drew the dagger from the wound, and a great jet of blood shot up and crimsoned her hands. She did not faint--there seemed to be a deathless energy within her that chained life strongly in its place--she only pressed both hands hard over the wound, and looked mournfully and reproachfully up in his face. Those beautiful, sad, solemn eyes, void of everything savage and fierce, were truly Leoline's eyes now.

Through all his first shock of horror, another thing dawned on his mind; he had looked on this scene before. It was the second view in La Masque's caldron, and but one remained to be verified.

The next instant, he was down on his knees in a paroxysm of grief and despair.

"What have I done? what have I done?" was his cry.

"Listen!" she said, faintly raising one finger. "Do you hear that?"

Distant steps were echoing along the pa.s.sage. Yes; he heard them, and knew what they were.

"They are coming to lead you to death!" she said, with some of her old fire; "but I will baffle them yet. Take that lamp--go to the wall yonder, and in that corner, near the floor, you will see a small iron ring. Pull it--it does not require much force--and you will find an opening leading through another vault; at the end there is a broken flight of stairs, mount them, and you will find yourself in the same place from which you fell. Fly, fly! There is not a second to lose!"

"How can I fly? how can I leave you dying here?"

"I am not dying!" she wildly cried, lifting both hands from the wound to push him away, while the blood flowed over the floor. "But we will both die if you stay. Go-go-go!"

The footsteps had paused at his door. The bolts were beginning to be withdrawn. He lifted the lamp, flew across his prison, found the ring, and took a pull at it with desperate strength. Part of what appeared to be the solid wall drew out, disclosing an aperture through which he could just squeeze sideways. Quick as thought he was through, forgetting the lamp in his haste. The portion of the wall slid noiselessly back, just as the prison door was thrown open, and the dwarfs voice was heard, socially inviting him, like Mrs. Bond's ducks, to come and be killed.

Some people talk of darkness so palpable that it may be felt, and if ever any one was qualified to tell from experience what it felt like, Sir Norman was in that precise condition at that precise period.

He groped his way through the blind blackness along what seemed an interminable distance, and stumbled, at last, over the broken stairs at the end. With some difficult, and at the serious risk of his jugular, he mounted them, and found himself, as Miranda had stated, in a place he knew very well. Once here he allowed no gra.s.s to grow under his feet; and, in five minutes after, to his great delight, he found himself where he had never hoped to be again--in the serene moonlight and the open air, fetterless and free.

His horse was still where he had left him, and in a twinkling he was on his back, and dashing away to the city, to love--to Leoline!

CHAPTER XV. LEOLINE'S VISITORS.

If things were done right--but they are not and, never will be, while this whirligig world of mistakes spins round, and all Adam's children, to the end of the chapter, will continue sinning to-day and repenting tomorrow, falling the next and bewailing it the day after. If Leoline had gone to bed directly, like a good, dutiful little girl, as Sir Norman ordered her, she would have saved herself a good deal of trouble and tears; but Leoline and sleep were destined to shake hands and turn their backs on each other that night. It was time for all honest folks to be in bed, and the dark-eyed beauty knew it too, but she had no notion of going, nevertheless. She stood in the centre of the room, where he had left her, with a spot like a scarlet roseberry on either cheek; a soft half-smile on the perfect mouth, and a light unexpressibly tender and dreamy, in those artesian wells of beauty--her eyes. Most young girls of green and tender years, suffering from "Love's young dream," and that sort of thing, have just that soft, shy, brooding look, whenever their thoughts happen to turn to their particular beloved; and there are few eyes so ugly that it does not beautify, even should they be as cross as two sticks. You should have seen Leoline standing in the centre of her pretty room, with her bright rose-satin glancing and glittering, and flowing over rug and mat; with her black waving hair cl.u.s.tering and curling like shining floss silk; with a rich white shimmer of pearls on the pale smooth forehead and large beautiful arms.

She did look irresistibly bewitching beyond doubt; and it was just as well for Sir Norman's peace of mind that he did not see her, for he was bad enough without that. So she stood thinking tenderly of him for a half-hour or so, quite undisturbed by the storm; and how strange it was that she had risen up that very morning expecting to be one man's bride, and that she should rise up the next, expecting to be another's. She could not realize it at all; and with a little sigh-half pleasure, half presentiment--she walked to the window, drew the curtain, and looked out at the night. All was peaceful and serene; the moon was full to overflowing, and a great deal of extra light ran over the brim; quite a quant.i.ty of stars were out, and were winking pleasantly down at the dark little planet below, that went round, and round, with grim stoicism, and paid no attention to anybody's business but its own. She saw the heaps of black, charred ashes that the rush of rain had quenched; she saw the still and empty street; the frowning row of gloomy houses opposite, and the man on guard before one of them. She had watched that man all day, thinking, with a sick shudder, of the plague-stricken prisoners he guarded, and reading its piteous inscription, "Lord have mercy on us!"

till the words seemed branded on her brain. While she looked now, an upper window was opened, a night-cap was thrust out and a voice from its cavernous depths hailed the guard.

"Robert! I say, Robert!"

"Well!" said Robert, looking up.

"Master and missus be gone at last, and the rest won't live till morning."

"Won't they?" said Robert, phlegmatically; "what a pity! Get 'em ready, and I'll stop the dead-cart when it comes round."

Just as he spoke, the well-known rattle of wheels, the loud ringing of the bell, and the monotonous cry of the driver, "Bring out your dead!

bring out your dead!" echoed on the pale night's silence; and the pest-cart came rumbling and jolting along with its load of death. The watchman hailed the driver, according to promise, and they entered the house together, brought out one long, white figure, and then another, and threw them on top of the ghastly heap.

"We'll have three more for you in on hour of so--don't forget to come round," suggested the watchman.

"All right!" said the driver, as he took his place, whipped his horse, rang his bell, and jogged along nonchalantly to the plague-pit.

Sick at heart, Leoline dropped the curtain, and turned round to see somebody else standing at her elbow. She had been quite alone when she looked out; she was alone no longer; there had been no noise, yet some one had entered, and was standing beside her. A tall figure, all in black, with its sweeping velvet robes spangled with stars of golden rubies, a perfect figure of incomparable grace and beauty. It had worn a cloak that had dropped lightly from its shoulders, and lay on the floor and the long hair streamed in darkness over shoulder and waist. The face was masked, the form stood erect and perfectly motionless, and the scream of surprise and consternation that arose to Leoline's lips died out in wordless terror. Her noiseless visitor perceived it, and touching her arm lightly with one little white hand, said in her sweetest and most exquisite of tones:

"My child, do not tremble so, and do not look so deathly white. You know me, do you not?"

"You are La Masque!" said Leoline trembling with nervous dread.

"I am, and no stranger to you; though perhaps you think so. Is it your habit every night to look out of your window in full dress until morning?"

"How did you enter?" asked Leoline, her curiosity overcoming for a moment even her fear.

"Through the door. Not a difficult thing, either, if you leave it wide open every night, as it is this."

"Was it open?" said Leoline, in dismay. "I never knew it."

"Ah! then it was not you who went out last. Who was it?"

"It was--was--" Leoline's cheeks were scarlet; "it was a friend!"

"A somewhat late hour for one's friends to visit," said La Masque, sarcastically; "and you should learn the precaution of seeing them to the door and fastening it after them."

"Rest a.s.sured, I shall do so for the future," said Leoline, with a look that would have reminded Sir Norman of Miranda had he seen it.

"I scarcely expected the honor of any more visits, particularly from strangers to-night."

"Civil, that! Will you ask me to sit down, or am I to consider myself an unseasonable intruder, and depart?"

"Madame, will you do me the honor to be seated. The hour, as you say, is somewhat unseasonable, and you will oblige me by letting me know to what I am indebted for the pleasure of this visit, as quickly as possible."

There was something quite dignified about Mistress Leoline as she swept rustling past La Masque, sank into the pillowy depths of her lounge, and motioned her visitor to a seat with a slight and graceful wave of her hand. Not but that in her secret heart she was a good deal frightened, for something under her pink satin corsage was going pit-a-pat at a wonderful rate; but she thought that betraying such a feeling would not be the thing. Perhaps the tall, dark figure saw it, and smiled behind her mask; but outwardly she only leaned lightly against the back of the chair, and glanced discreetly at the door.

"Are you sure we are quite alone?"

"Quite:"

"Because," said La Masque, in her low, silvery tones, "what I have come to say is not for the ears of any third person living:"

"We are entirely alone, madame," replied Leoline, opening her black eyes very wide. "Prudence is gone, and I do not know when she will be back."

"Prudence will never come back," said La Masque, quietly.

"Madame!"

"My dear, do not look so shocked--it is not her fault. You know she deserted you for fear of the plague."

"Yes, yes!"

"Well, that did not save her; nay, it even brought on what she dreaded so much. Your nurse is plague-stricken, my dear, and lies ill unto death in the pesthouse in Finsbury Fields."