DAY-DAWN.
All this time, the attendant, George, had been sitting, very much at his ease, on horseback, looking after Sir Norman's charger and admiring the beauties of sunrise.He had seen Sir Norman in conversation with a strange female, and not much liking his near proximity to the plague-pit, was rather impatient for it to come to an end; but when he saw the tragic manner in which it did end, his consternation was beyond all bounds.Sir Norman, in his horrified flight, would have fairly passed him unnoticed, had not George arrested him by a loud shout.
"I beg your pardon, Sir Norman," he exclaimed, as that gentleman turned his distracted face; "but, it seems to me, you are running away.Here is your horse; and allow me to say, unless we hurry we will scarcely reach the count by sunrise."Sir Norman leaned against his horse, and shaded his eyes with his hand, shuddering like one in an ague.
"Why did that woman leap into the plague-pit?" inquired George, looking at him curiously."Was it not the sorceress, La Masque?""Yes, yes.Do not ask me any questions now," replied Sir Norman, in a smothered voice, and with an impatient wave of his hand.
"Whatever you please, sir," said George, with the flippancy of his class; "but still I must repeat, if you do not mount instantly, we will be late; and my master, the count, is not one who brooks delay."The young knight vaulted into the saddle without a word, and started off at a break-neck pace into the city.George, almost unable to keep up with him, followed instead of leading, rather skeptical in his own mind whether he were not riding after a moon-struck lunatic.Once or twice he shouted out a sharp-toned inquiry as to whether he knew where he was going, and that they were taking the wrong way altogether; to all of which Sir Norman deigned not the slightest reply, but rode more and more recklessly on.There were but few people abroad at that hour;indeed, for that matter, the streets of London, in the dismal summer of 1665, were, comparatively speaking, always deserted;and the few now wending their way homeward were tired physicians and plague-nurses from the hospitals, and several hardy country folks, with more love of lucre than fear of death bending their steps with produce to the market-place.These people, sleepy and pallid in the gray haze of daylight, stared in astonishment after the two furious riders; and windows were thrown open, and heads thrust out to see what the unusual thunder of horses' hoofs at that early hour meant.George followed dauntlessly on, determined to do it or die in the attempt; and if he had ever heard of the Flying Dutchman, would undoubtedly have come to the conclusion that he was just then following his track on dry land.
But, unlike the hapless Vanderdecken, Sir Norman came to a halt at last, and that so suddenly that his horse stood on his beam ends, and flourished his two fore limbs in the atmosphere.It was before La Masque's door; and Sir Norman was out of the saddle in a flash, and knocking like a postman with the handle of his whip on the door.The thundering reveille rang through the house, making it shake to its centre, and hurriedly brought to the door, the anatomy who acted as guardian-angel of the establishment.
"La Masque is not at home, and I cannot admit you," was his sharp salute.
"Then I shall just take the trouble of admitting myself," said Sir Norman, shortly.
And without further ceremony, he pushed aside the skeleton and entered.But that outraged servitor sprang in his path, indignant and amazed.
"No, sir; I cannot permit it.I do not know you; and it is against all orders to admit strangers in La Masque's absence.""Bah! you old simpleton!" remarked Sir Norman, losing his customary respect for old age in his impatience, "I have La Masque's order for what I am about to do.Get along with you directly, will you? Show me to her private room, and no nonsense!"He tapped his sword-hilt significantly as he spoke, and that argument proved irresistible.Grumbling, in low tones, the anatomy stalked up-stairs; and the other followed, with very different feelings from those with which he had mounted that staircase last.His guide paused in the hall above, with his hand on the latch of a door.
"This is her private room, is it!" demanded Sir Norman.
"Yes."
"Just stand aside, then, and let me pass."The room he entered was small, simply furnished, and seemed to answer as bed-chamber and study, all in one.There was a writing-table under a window, covered with books, and he glanced at them with some curiosity.They were classics, Greek and Latin, and other little known tongues - perhaps Sanscrit and Chaldaic, French belles lettres, novels, and poetry, and a few rare old English books.There were no papers, however, and those were what he was in search of; so spying a drawer in the table, he pulled it hastily open.The eight that met his eyes fairly dazzled him.It was full of jewels of incomparable beauty and value, strewn as carelessly about as if they were valueless.The blaze of gems at the midnight court seemed to him as nothing compared with the Golconda, the Valley of Diamonds shooting forth sparks of rainbow-fire before him now.Around one magnificent diamond necklace was entwined a scrap of paper, on which was written:
