"The duke, by all that's lucky! O, I'll let you go: but not until the hangman gets hold of you. Villain and robber, you shall pay for your misdeeds now!"

"Hold!" shouted the commanding voice of Count L'Estrange. "Cease, Sir Norman Kingsley! there is no time, and this is no person for you to scoff with. He is our prisoner, and shall show us the nearest way into this den of thieves. Give me your sword, fellow, and be thankful I do not make you shorter by a head with it."

"You do not know him!" cried Sir Norman; in vivid excitement. "I tell you this is the identical scoundrel who attempted to rob and murder you a few hours ago."

"So much the better! He shall pay for that and all his other shortcomings, before long! But, in the meantime, I order him to bring us before the rest of this outlawed crew."

"I shall do nothing of the kind," said the duke, sullenly.

"Just as you please. Here, my men, two of you take hold of this scoundrel, and dispatch him at once."

The guard had all dismounted; and two of them came forward with edifying obedience, to do as they were told.

The effect upon the duke was miraculous. Instantly he started up, with an energy perfectly amazing:

"No, no, no! I'll do it! Come this way, gentlemen, and I'll bring you direct into their midst. O good Lord! whatever will become of us?"

This last frantic question was addressed to society in general, but Sir Norman felt called upon to answer:

"That's very easily told, my man. If you and the rest of your t.i.tled a.s.sociates receive your deserts (as there is no doubt you will) from the gracious hand of our sovereign lord, the king, the strongest rope and highest gallows at Tyburn will be your elevated destiny."

The duke groaned dismally, and would have come to a halt to beg mercy on the spot, had not Hubert given him a probe in, the ribs with the point of his dagger, that sent him on again, with a distracted howl.

"Why, this is a perfect Hades!" said the count, as he stumbled after, in the darkness. "Are you sure we are going right, Kingsley?"

The inquiry was not unnatural, for the blackness was perfectly Tartarian, and the soldiers behind were knocking their tall shins against all sorts of obstacles as they groped blindly along, invoking from them countless curses, not loud, but deep.

"I don't know whether we are or not," said Sir Norman significantly; "only, G.o.d help him if we're not! Where are you taking us to, you black-looking bandit?"

"I give you my word of honor, gentlemen," said an imploring voice in the darkness, "that I'm leading you, by the nearest way, to the Midnight Court. All I ask of you in return is, that you will let me enter before you; for if they find that I lead you in, my life will not be worth a moment's purchase."

"As if it ever was worth it," said Sir Norman, contemptuously. "On with you, and be thankful I don't save your companions the trouble, by making an end of you where you stand."

"Rush along, old fellow," suggested Hubert, giving him another poke with his dagger, that drew forth a second doleful howl.

Notwithstanding the darkness, Sir Norman discovered that they were being led in a direction exactly opposite that by which he had previously effected an entrance. They were in the vault, he knew, by the darkness, though they had descended no stair-case, and he was just wondering if their guide was not meditating some treachery by such a circuitous route, when suddenly a tumult of voices, and uproar, and confusion, met his ear. At the same instant, their guide opened a door, revealing a dark pa.s.sage, illuminated by a few rays of light, and which Sir Norman instantly recognized as that leading to the Black Chamber. Here again the duke paused, and turned round to them with a wildly-imploring face.

"Gentlemen, I do conjure you to let me enter before you do! I tell you they will murder me the very instant they discover I have led you here!"

"That would be a great pity!" said the count; "and the gallows will be cheated of one of its brightest ornaments! That is your den of thieves, I suppose, from which all this uproar comes?"

"It is. And as I have guided you safely to it, surely I deserve this trifling boon."

"Trifling, do you call it," interposed Sir Norman, "to let you make your escape, as you most a.s.suredly will do the moment you are out of our sight! No, no; we are too old birds to be caught with such chaff; and though the informer always gets off scot-free, your services deserve no such boon; for we could have found our way without your help! On with you, Sir Robber; and if your companions do kill you, console yourself with the thought that they have only antic.i.p.ated the executioner by a few days!"

With a perfectly heart-rending groan, the unfortunate duke walked on; but when they reached the archway directly before the room, he came to an obstinate halt, and positively refused to go a step farther. It was death, anyway, and he resisted with the courage of desperation, feeling he might as well die there as go in and be a.s.sa.s.sinated by his confederates, and not even the persuasive influence of Hubert's dagger could prevail on him to budge an inch farther.

"Stay, then!" said the count, with perfect indifference. "And, soldiers, see that he does not escape! Now, Kingsley, let us just have a glimpse of what is going on within."

Though the party had made considerable noise in advancing, and had spoken quite loudly in their little animated discussion with the duke, so great was the turmoil and confusion within, that it was not heeded, or even heard. With very different feelings from those with which he had stood there last, Sir Norman stepped forward and stood beside the count, looking at the scene within.

The crimson court was in a state of "most admired disorder," and the confusion of tongues was equal to Babel. No longer were they languidly promenading, or lolling in the cushioned chairs; but all seemed running to and fro in the wildest excitement, which the grandest duke among them seemed to share equally with the terrified white sylphs. Everybody appeared to be talking together, and paying no attention whatever to the sentiments of their neighbors. One universal centre of union alone seemed to exist, and that was the green, judicial table near the throne, upon which, while all tongues ran, all eyes turned. For some minutes, neither of the beholders could make out why, owing to the crowd (princ.i.p.ally of the ladies) pressing around it; but Sir Norman guessed, and thrilled through with a vague sensation of terror, lest it should prove to be the dead body of Miranda. Skipping in and out among the females he saw the dwarf, performing a sort of war dance of rage and frenzy; twining both hands in his wig, as if he would have torn it out by the roots, and anon tearing at somebody else's wig, so that everybody backed off when he came near them.

"Who is that little fiend?" inquired the count; "and what have they got there at the and of the room, pray?"

"That little fiend is the ringleader here, and is ent.i.tled Prince Caliban. Regarding your other question," said Sir Norman, with a faint thrill, "there was a table there when I saw it last, but I am afraid there is something worse now."

"Could ever any mortal conceive of such a scene," observed the count to himself; "look at that little picture of ugliness; how he hops about like a dropsical bull-frog. Some of those women are very pretty, too, and outshine more than one court-beauty that I have seen. Upon my word, it is the most extraordinary spectacle I ever heard of. I wonder what they've got that's so attractive down there?"

At the same moment, a loud voice within the circle abruptly exclaimed

"She revives, she revives! Back, back, and give her air!"

Instantly, the throng swayed and fell back; and the dwarf, with a sort of yell (whether of rage or relief, n.o.body knew), swept them from side to side with a wave of his long arms, and cleared a wide vacancy for his own especial benefit. The action gave the count an opportunity of gratifying his curiosity. The object of attraction was now plainly visible. Sir Norman's surmises had been correct. The green table of the parliament-house of the midnight court had been converted, by the aid of cushions and pillows, into an extempore couch; and half-buried in their downy depths lay Miranda, the queen. The sweeping robe of royal purple, trimmed with ermine, the circlets of jewels on arms, bosom, and head, she still wore, and the beautiful face was whiter than fallen snow.

Yet she was not dead, as Sir Norman had dreaded; for the dark eyes were open, and were fixed with an unutterable depth of melancholy on vacancy.

Her arms lay helplessly by her side, and someone, the court physician probably, was bending over her and feeling her pulse.

As the count's eyes fell upon her, he started back, and grasped Sir Norman's arm with consternation.

"Good heavens, Kingsley!" he cried; "it is Leoline, herself!"

In his excitement he had spoken so loud, that in the momentary silence that followed the physician's direction, his voice had rung through the room, and drew every eye upon them.

"We are seen, we are seen!" shouted Hubert, and as he spoke, a terrible cry idled the room. In an instant every sword leaped from its scabbard, and the shriek of the startled women rang appallingly out on the air.

Sir Norman drew his sword, too; but the count, with his eyes yet fixed on Miranda, still held him by the arm, and excitedly exclaimed,

"Tell me, tell me, is it Leoline?"

"Leoline! No--how could it be Leoline? They look alike, that's all. Draw your sword, count, and defend yourself; we are discovered, and they are upon us!"

"We are upon them, you mean, and it is they who are discovered," said the count, doing as directed, and stepping boldly in. "A pretty hornet's nest is this we have lit upon, if ever there was one."

Side by side with the count, with a dauntless step and eye, Sir Norman entered, too; and, at sight of him a burst of surprise and fury rang from lip to lip. There was a yell of "Betrayed, betrayed!" and the dwarf, with a face so distorted by fiendish fury that it was scarcely human, made a frenzied rush at him, when the clear, commanding voice of the count rang like a bugle blast through the a.s.sembly,

"Sheathe your swords, the whole of you, and yield yourselves prisoners.

In the king's name, I command you to surrender."

"There is no king here but I!" screamed the dwarf, gnashing his teeth, and fairly foaming with rage. "Die; traitor and spy! You have escaped me once, but your hour is come now."

"Allow me to differ from you," said Sir Norman, politely, as he evaded the blindly-frantic lunge of the dwarf's sword, and inserted an inch or two of the point of his own in that enraged little prince's anatomy. "So far from my hour having come--if you will take the trouble to reflect upon it--you will find it is the reverse, and that my little friend's brief and brilliant career is rapidly drawing to a close."

At these bland remarks, and at the sharp thrust that accompanied them, the dwarfs previous war-dance of anxiety was nothing to the horn-pipe of exasperation he went through when Sir Norman ceased. The blood was raining from his side, and from the point of his adversary's sword, as he withdrew it; and, maddened like a wild beast at the sight of his own blood, he screeched, and foamed, and kicked about his stout little legs, and gnashed his teeth, and made grabs at his wig, and lashed the air with his sword, and made such desperate pokes with it, at Sir Norman and everybody else who came in his way, that, for the public good, the young knight run him through the sword-arm, and, in spite of all his distracted didos, captured him by the help of Hubert, and pa.s.sed him over to the soldiers to cheer and keep company with the duke.

This brisk little affair being over, Sir Norman had time to look about him. It had all pa.s.sed in so short a s.p.a.ce, and the dwarf had been so desperately frantic, that the rest had paused involuntarily, and were still looking on. Missing the count, he glanced around the room, and discovered him standing on Miranda's throne, looking over the company with the cool air of a conqueror. Miranda, aroused, as she very well might be by all this screaming and fighting, had partly raised herself upon her elbow, and was looking wildly about her. As her eye fell on Sir Norman, she sat fairly erect, with a cry of exultation and joy.

"You have come, you have come, as I knew you would," she excitedly cried, "and the hour of retribution is at hand!"

At the words of one who, a few moments before, they had supposed to be dead, an awestruck silence fell; and the count, taking advantage of it, waved his hand, and cried,