"Very sorry, Nell," he said, in a nonchalant tone, "but I'm afraid I must.How long have you been here, may I ask?""A full hour by St.Paul's; and where has Sir Norman Kingsley been, may I ask? I thought you were dead of the plague.""Not exactly.Have you seen - ah! there he is.The very man Iwant."
With which Sir Norman Kingsley dropped a gold piece into the girl's extended palm, and pushed on through the crowd up Paul's Walk.A tall, dark figure was leaning moodily with folded arms, looking fixedly at the ground, and taking no notice of the busy scene around him until Sir Norman laid his ungloved and jeweled hand lightly on his shoulder.
"Good morning, Ormiston.I had an idea I would find you here, and - but what's the matter with you, man? Have you got the plague? or has your mysterious inamorata jilted you? or what other annoyance has happened to make you look as woebegone as old King Lear, sent adrift by his tender daughters to take care of himself?"The individual addressed lifted his head, disclosing a dark and rather handsome face, settled now into a look of gloomy discontent.He slightly raised his hat as he saw who his questioner was.
"Ah! it's you, Sir Norman! I had given up all notion of your coming, and was about to quit this confounded babel - this tumultuous den of thieves.What has detained you?""I was on duty at Whitehall.Are we not in time to keep our appointment?""Oh, certainly! La Masque is at home to visitors at all hours, day and night.I believe in my soul she doesn't know what sleep means.""And you are still as much in love with her as ever, I dare swear!I have no doubt, now, it was of her you were thinking when I came up.Nothing else could ever have made you look so dismally woebegone as you did, when Providence sent me to your relief.""I was thinking of her," said the young man moodily, and with a darkening brow.
Sir Norman favored him with a half-amused, half-contemptuous stare for a moment; then stopped at a huckster's stall to purchase some cigarettes; lit one, and after smoking for a few minutes, pleasantly remarked, as if the fact had just struck him:
"Ormiston, you're a fool!"
"I know it!" said Ormiston, sententiously.
"The idea," said Sir Norman, knocking the ashes daintily off the end of his cigar with the tip of his little finger - "the idea of falling in love with a woman whose face you have never seen! Ican understand a man a going to any absurd extreme when he falls in love in proper Christian fashion, with a proper Christian face; but to go stark, staring mad, as you have done, my dear fellow, about a black loo mask, why - I consider that a little too much of a good thing! Come, let us go."Nodding easily to his numerous acquaintances as he went, Sir Norman Kingsley sauntered leisurely down Paul's Walk, and out through the great door of the cathedral, followed by his melancholy friend.Pausing for a moment to gaze at the gorgeous sunset with a look of languid admiration, Sir Norman passed his arm through that of his friend, and they walked on at rather a rapid pace, in the direction of old London Bridge.There were few people abroad, except the watchmen walking slowly up and down before the plague-stricken houses; but in every street they passed through they noticed huge piles of wood and coal heaped down the centre.Smoking zealously they had walked on for a season in silence, when Ormiston ceased puffing for a moment, to inquire:
"What are all these for? This is a strange time, I should imagine, for bonfires.""They're not bonfires," said Sir Norman; "at least they are not intended for that; and if your head was not fuller of that masked Witch of Endor than common sense (for I believe she is nothing better than a witch), you could not have helped knowing.The Lord Mayor of London has been inspired suddenly, with a notion, that if several thousand fires are kindled at once in the streets, it will purify the air, and check the pestilence; so when St.Paul's tolls the hour of midnight, all these piles are to be fired.It will be a glorious illumination, no doubt; but as to its stopping the progress of the plague, I am afraid that it is altogether too good to be true.""Why should you doubt it? The plague cannot last forever.""No.But Lilly, the astrologer, who predicted its coming, also 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 Ihave 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:
