THE EARL'S BARGE.
Shocks of joy, they tell me, seldom kill.Of my own knowledge Icannot say, for I have had precious little experience of such shocks in my lifetime, Heaven knows; but in the present instance, I can safely aver, they had no such dismal effect on Ormiston.
Nothing earthly could have given that young gentleman a greater shock of joy than the knowledge he was to behold the long hidden face of his idol.That that face was ugly, he did not for an instant believe, or, at least, it never world be ugly to him.
With a form so perfect - a form a sylph might have envied - a voice sweeter than the Singing Fountain of Arabia, hands and feet the most perfectly beautiful the sun ever shone on, it was simply a moral and physical impossibility, then, they could be joined to a repulsive face.There was a remote possibility that it was a little less exquisite than those ravishing items, and that her morbid fancy made her imagine it homely, compared with them, but he knew he never would share in that opinion.It was the reasoning of lover, rather, the logic; for when love glides smiling in at the door, reason stalks gravely, not to say sulkily, out of the window, and, standing afar off, eyes disdainfully the didos and antics of her late tenement.There was very little reason, therefore, in Ormiston's head and heart, but a great deal of something sweeter, joy - joy that thrilled and vibrated through every nerve within him.Leaning against the portal, in an absurd delirium of delight - for it takes but a trifle to jerk those lovers from the slimiest depths of the Slough of Despond to the topmost peak of the mountain of ecstasy - he uncovered his head that the night-air might cool its feverish throbbings.But the night-air was as hot as his heart;and, almost suffocated by the sultry closeness, he was about to start for a plunge in the river, when the sound of coming footsteps and voices arrested him.He had met with so many odd ad ventures to-night that he stopped now to see who was coming;for on every hand all was silent and forsaken,Footsteps and voices came closer; two figures took shape in the gloom, and emerged from the darkness into the glimmering lamp light.He recognised them both.One was the Earl of Rochester;the other, his dark-eyed, handsome page - that strange page with the face of the lost lady! The earl was chatting familiarly, and laughing obstreperously at something or other, while the boy merely wore a languid smile, as if anything further in that line were quite beneath his dignity.
"Silence and solitude," said the earl, with a careless glance around, " I protest, Hubert, this night seems endless.How long is it till midnight?""An hour and a half at least, I should fancy," answered the boy, with a strong foreign accent."I know it struck ten as we passed St.Paul's.""This grand bonfire of our most worshipful Lord Mayor will be a sight worth seeing," remarked the earl."When all these piles are lighted, the city will be one sea of fire.""A slight foretaste of what most of its inhabitants will behold in another world," said the page, with a French shrug."I have heard Lilly's prediction that London is to be purified by fire, like a second Sodom; perhaps it is to be verified to-night.""Not unlikely; the dome of St.Paul's would be an excellent place to view the conflagration.""The river will do almost as well, my lord.""We will have a chance of knowing that presently," said the earl, as he and his page descended to the river, where the little gilded barge lay moored, and the boatman waiting.
As they passed from sight Ormiston came forth, and watched thoughtfully after them.The face and figure were that of the lady, but the voice was different; both were clear and musical enough, but she spoke English with the purest accent, while his was the voice of a foreigner.It most have been one of those strange, unaccountable likenesses we sometimes see among perfect strangers, but the resemblance in this ease was something wonderful.It brought his thoughts back from himself sad his own fortunate love, to his violently-smitten friend, Sir Norman, and his plague-stricken beloved; and he began speculating what he could possibly be about just then, or what he had discovered in the old ruin.Suddenly he was aroused; a moment before, the silence had been almost oppressive but now on the wings of the night, there came a shout.A tumult of voices and footsteps were approaching.
"Stop her! Stop her!" was cried by many voices; and the next instant a fleet figure went flying past him with a rush, and plunged head foremost into she river.
A slight female figure, with floating robes of white, waving hair of deepest, blackness, with a sparkle of jewels on neck and arms.
Only for an instant did he see it; but he knew it well, and his very heart stood still."Stop her! stop her! she is ill of the plague!" shouted the crowd, preying panting on; but they came too late; the white vision had gone down into the black, sluggish river, and disappeared.
