THE HIDDEN FACE
When Mr.Malcolm Ormiston, with his usual good sense and penetration, took himself off, and left Leoline and Sir Norman tete-a-tete, his steps turned as mechanically as the needle to the North Pole toward La Masque's house.Before it he wandered, around it he wandered, like an uneasy ghost, lost in speculation about the hidden face, and fearfully impatient about the flight of time.If La Masque saw him hovering aloof and unable to tear himself away, perhaps it might touch her obdurate heart, and cause her to shorten the dreary interval, and summon him to her presence at once.Just then some one opened the door, and his heart began to beat with anticipation; some one pronounced his name, and, going over, he saw the animated bag of bones -otherwise his lady-love's vassal and porter.
"La Masque says," began the attenuated lackey, and Ormiston's heart nearly jumped out of his mouth, "that she can't have anybody hanging about her house like its shadow; and she wants you to go away, and keep away, till the time comes she has mentioned."So saying the skeleton shut the door, and Ormiston's heart went down to zero.There being nothing for it but obedience, however, he slowly and reluctantly turned away, feeling in his bones, that if ever he came to the bliss and ecstasy of calling La Masque Mrs.Ormiston, the gray mare in his stable would be by long odds the better horse.Unintentionally his steps turned to the water-side, and he descended the flight of stairs, determined to get into a boat and watch the illumination from the river.
Late as was the hour, the Thames seemed alive with wherries and barges, and their numerous lights danced along the surface like fire-flies over a marsh.A gay barge, gilded and cushioned, was going slowly past; and as he stood directly under the lamp, he was recognized by a gentleman within it, who leaned over and hailed him"Ormiston! I say, Ormiston!""Well, my lord," said Ormiston, recognizing the handsome face and animated voice of the Earl of Rochester.
"Have you any engagement for the next half-hour? If not, do me the favor to take a seat here, and watch London in flames from the river.""With all my heart," said Ormiston, running down to the water's edge, and leaping into the boat."With all this bustle of life around here, one would think it were noonday instead of midnight.""The whole city is astir about these fires.Have you any idea they will be successful?""Not the least.You know, my lord, the prediction runs, that the plague will rage till the living are no longer able to bury the dead.""It will soon come to that," said the earl shuddering slightly, "if it continues increasing much longer as it does now daily.
How do the bills of mortality ran to-day?""I have not heard.Hark! There goes St.Paul's tolling twelve.""And there goes a flash of fire - the first among many.Look, look! How they spring up into the black darkness.""They will not do it long.Look at the sky, my lord."The earl glanced up at the midnight sky, of a dull and dingy red color, except where black and heavy clouds were heaving like angry billows, all dingy with smoke and streaked with bars of fiery red.
"I see! There is a storm coming, and a heavy one! Our worthy burghers and most worshipful Lord Mayor will see their fires extinguished shortly, and themselves sent home with wet jackets.""And for weeks, almost month, there has not fallen a drop of rain," remarked Ormiston, gravely.
"A remarkable coincidence, truly.There seems to be a fatality hanging over this devoted city.""I wonder your lordship remains?"
The earl shrugged his shoulders significantly.
"It is not so easy leaving it as you think, Mr.Ormiston; but Iam to turn my back to it to-morrow for a brief period.You are aware, I suppose, that the court leaves before daybreak for Oxford.""I believe I have heard something of it - how long to remain?""Till Charles takes it into his head to come back again," said the earl, familiarly, "which will probably be in a week or two.
Look at that sky, all black and scarlet; and look at those people - I scarcely thought there were half the number left alive in London.""Even the sick have come out to-night," said Ormiston."Half the pest-stricken in the city have left their beds, full of newborn hope.One would think it were a carnival.""So it is - a carnival of death! I hope, Ormiston," said the earl, looking at him with a light laugh, "the pretty little white fairy we rescued from the river is not one of the sick parading the streets."Ormiston looked grave.
"No, my lord, I think she is not.I left her safe and secure.""Who is she, Ormiston?" coaxed the earl, laughingly."Pshaw, man! don't make a mountain out of a mole-hill! Tell me her name!""Her name is Leoline."
"What else?"
"That is just what I would like to have some one tell me.I give you my honor, my lord, I do not know."The earl's face, half indignant, half incredulous, wholly curious, made Ormiston smile.
"It is a fact, my lord.I asked her her name, and she told me Leoline - a pretty title enough, but rather unsatisfactory.""How long have you known her?"
