Sir Norman Kingsley's consternation and horror on discovering the dead body of his friend, was only equalled by his amazement as to how he got there, or how he came to be dead at all. The livid face, up turned to the moonlight, was unmistakably the face of a dead man--it was no swoon, no deception, like Leoline's; for the blue, ghastly paleness that marks the flight of the soul from the body was stamped on every rigid feature.

Yet, Sir Norman could not realize it. We all know how hard it is to realize the death of a friend from whom we have but lately parted in full health and life, and Ormiston's death was so sudden. Why, it was not quite two hours since they had parted in Leoline's house, and even the plague could not carry off a victim as quickly as this.

"Ormiston! Ormiston!" he called, between grief and dismay, as he raised him in his arms, with his hand over the stilled heart; but Ormiston answered not, and the heart gave no pulsation beneath his fingers. He tore open his doublet, as the thought of the plague flashed through his mind, but no plague-spot was to be seen, and it was quite evident, from the appearance of the face, that he had not died of the distemper, neither was there any wound or mark to show that he had met his end violently. Yet the cold, white face was convulsed, as if he had died in throes of agony, the hands were clenched, till the nails sank into the flesh; and that was the only outward sign or token that he had suffered in expiring.

Sir Norman was completely at a loss, and half beside himself, with a thousand conflicting feelings of sorrow, astonishment, and mystification. The rapid and exciting events of the night had turned his head into a mental chaos, as they very well might, but he still had commonsense enough left to know that something must be done about this immediately. He knew the best place to take Ormiston was to the nearest apothecary's shop, which establishments were generally open, and filled, the whole livelong night, by the sick and their friends. As he was meditating whether or not to call the surly watchman to help him carry the body, a pest-cart came, providentially, along, and the driver-seeing a young man bending over a prostrate form-guessed at once what was the matter, and came to a halt.

"Another one!" he said, coming leisurely up, and glancing at the lifeless form with a very professional eye. "Well, I think there is room for another one in the cart; so bear a hand, friend, and let us have him out of this."

"You are mistaken!" said Sir Norman sharply, "he has not died of the plague. I am not even certain whether he is dead at all."

The driver looked at Sir Norman, then stooped down and touched Ormiston's icy face, and listened to hear him breathe. He stood up after a moment, with some thing like a small laugh.

"If he's alive," he said, turning to go, "then I never saw any one dead!

Good night, sir, I wish you joy when you bring him to."

"Stay!" exclaimed the young man, "I wish you to a.s.sist me in bringing him to yonder apothecary's shop, and you may have this for your pains."

"This" proved to be a talisman of alacrity; for the man pocketed it, and briskly laid hold of Ormiston by the feet, while Sir Norman wrapped his cloak reverently about him and took him by the shoulders. In this style his body was conveyed to the apothecary's shop which they found half full of applicants for medicine, among whom their entrance with the corpse produced no greater sensation than a momentary stare. The attire and bearing of Sir Norman proving him to be something different from their usual cla.s.s of visitors, bringing one of the drowsy apprentices immediately to his side, inquiring what were his orders.

"A private room, and your master's attendance directly," was the authoritative reply.

Both were to be had; the former, a hole in the wall behind the shop; the latter, a pallid, cadaverous-looking person, with the air of one who had been dead a week, thought better of it and rose again. There was a long table in the aforesaid hole in the wall, bearing a strong family likeness to a dissecting-table; upon which the stark figure was laid, and the pest-cart driver disappeared. The apothecary held a mirror close to the face; applied his ear to the pulse and heart; held a pocket-mirror over his mouth, looked at it; shook his head; and set down the candle with decision.

"The man is dead, sir!" was his criticism, "dead as a door nail! All the medicine in the shop wouldn't kindle one spark of life in such ashes!"

"At least, try! Try something--bleeding for instance," suggested Sir Norman.

Again the apothecary examined the body, and again he shook his head dolefully.

"It's no use, sir: but, if it will please, you can try."

The right arm was bared; the lancet inserted, one or two black drops sluggishly followed and nothing more.

"It's all a waste of time, you see," remarked the apothecary, wiping his dreadful little weapon, "he's as dead as ever I saw anybody in my life!

How did he come to his end, sir--not by the plague?"

"I don't know," said Sir Norman, gloomily. "I wish you would tell me that."

"Can't do it, sir; my skill doesn't extend that far. There is no plague-spot or visible wound or bruise on the person; so he must have died of some internal complaint--probably disease of the heart."

"Never knew him to have such a thing," said Sir Norman, sighing. "It is very mysterious and very dreadful, and notwithstanding all you have said, I cannot believe him dead. Can he not remain here until morning, at least?"

The starved apothecary looked at him out of a pair of hollow, melancholy eyes.

"Gold can do anything," was his plaintive reply.

"I understand. You shall have it. Are you sure you can do nothing more for him?"

"Nothing whatever, sir; and excuse me, but there are customers in the shop, and I must leave, sir."

Which he did, accordingly; and Sir Norman was left alone with all that remained of him who, two hours before, was his warm friend. He could scarcely believe that it was the calm majesty of death that so changed the expression of that white face, and yet, the longer he looked, the more deeply an inward conviction a.s.sured him that it was so. He chafed the chilling hands and face, he applied hartshorn and burnt feathers to the nostrils, but all these applications, though excellent in their way, could not exactly raise the dead to life, and, in this case, proved a signal failure. He gave up his doctoring, at last, in despair, and folding his arms, looked down at what lay on the table, and tried to convince himself that it was Ormiston. So absorbed was he in the endeavor, that he heeded not the pa.s.sing moments, until it struck him with a shock that Hubert might even now be waiting for him at the trysting-place, with news of Leoline. Love is stronger than friendship, stronger than grief, stronger than death, stronger than every other feeling in the world; so he suddenly seized his hat, turned his back on Ormiston and the apothecary's shop, and strode off to the place he had quitted.

No Hubert was there, but two figures were pa.s.sing slowly along in the moonlight, and one of them he recognized, with an impulse to spring at him like a tiger and strangle him. But he had been so shocked and subdued by his recent discovery, that the impulse which, half an hour before, would have been unhesitatingly obeyed, went for nothing, now; and there was more of reproach, even, than anger in his voice, as he went over and laid his hand on the shoulder of one of them.

"Stay!" he said. "One word with you, Count L'Estrange. What have you done with Leoline!"

"Ah! Sir Norman, as I live!" cried the count wheeling round and lifting his hat. "Give me good even--or rather, good morning--Kingsley, for St.

Paul's has long gone the midnight hour."

Sir Norman, with his hand still on his shoulder, returned not the courtesy, and regarding the gallant count with a stern eye.

"Where is Leoline?" he frigidly repeated.

"Really," said the count, with some embarra.s.sment, "you attack me so unexpectedly, and so like a ghost or a highwayman--by the way I have a word to say to you about highwaymen, and was seeking you to say it."

"Where is Leoline?" shouted the exasperated young knight, releasing his shoulder, and clutching him by the throat. "Tell me or, by Heaven! I'll pitch you neck and heels into the Thames!"

Instantly the sword of the count's companion flashed in the moonlight, and, in two seconds more, its blue blade would have ended the earthly career of Sir Norman Kingsley, had not the count quickly sprang back, and made a motion for his companion to hold.

"Wait!" he cried, commandingly, with his arm outstretched to each. "Keep off! George, sheathe your sword and stand aside. Sir Norman Kingsley, one word with you, and be it in peace."

"There can be no peace between us," replied that aggravated young gentleman, fiercely "until you tell me what has become of Leoline."

"All in good time. We have a listener, and does it not strike you our conference should be private!"

"Public or private, it matters not a jot, so that you tell me what you've done with Leoline," replied Sir Norman, with whom it was evident getting beyond this question was a moral and physical impossibility.

"And if you do not give an account of yourself, I'll run you through as sure as your name is Count L'Estrange!"

A strange sort of smile came over the face of the count at this direful threat, as if he fancied in that case, he was safe enough; but Sir Norman, luckily, did not see it, and heard only the suave reply:

"Certainly, Sir Norman; I shall be delighted to do so. Let us stand over there in the shadow of that arch; and, George, do you remain here within call."

The count blandly waved Sir Norman to follow, which Sir Norman did, with much the mein of a sulky lion; and, a moment after, both were facing each other within the archway.

"Well!" cried the young knight, impatiently; "I am waiting. Go on!"

"My dear Kingsley," responded the count, in his easy way, "I think you are laboring under a little mistake. I have nothing to go on about; it is you who are to begin the controversy."

"Do you dare to play with me?" exclaimed Sir Norman, furiously. "I tell you to take care how you speak! What have you done with Leoline?"

"That is the fourth or fifth time that you've asked me that question,"

said the count, with provoking indifference. "What do you imagine I have done with her?"

Sir Norman's feelings, which had been rising ever since their meeting, got up to such a height at this aggravating question, that he gave vent to an oath, and laid his hand on his sword; but the count's hand lightly interposed before it came out.

"Not yet, Sir Norman. Be calm; talk rationally. What do you accuse me of doing with Leoline?"

"Do you dare deny having carried her off?"