"Remember your promise, lady, and do not make a noise.We have arrived at our journey's end, and if you will take my arm, I will lead you along, instead of carrying you."Leoline was rather surprised to find the journey so short, but she arose directly, with silence and dignity - at least with as much of the latter commodity as could be reasonably expected, considering that boats on water are rather unsteady things to be dignified in - and was led gently and with care out of the swaying vessel, and up another flight of stairs.Then, in a few moments, she was conscious of passing from the free night air into the closer atmosphere of a house; and in going through an endless labyrinth of corridors, and passages, and suites of rooms, and flights of stairs, until she became so extremely tired, that she stopped with spirited abruptness, and in the plainest possible English, gave her conductor to understand that they had gone about far enough for all practical purposes.To which that patient and respectful individual replied that he was glad to inform her they had but a few more steps to go, which the next moment proved to be true, for he stopped and announced that their promenade was over for the night.
"And I suppose I may have the use of my eyes at last?" inquired Leoline, with more haughtiness than Sir Norman could have believed possible so gentle a voice could have expressed.
For reply, her companion rapidly untied the bandage, and withdrew it with a flourish.The dazzling brightness that burst upon her, so blinded her, that for a moment she could distinguish nothing;and when she looked round to contemplate her companion, she found him hurriedly making his exit, and securely locking the door.
The sound of the key turning in the lock gave her a most peculiar sensation, which none but those who have experienced it can properly understand.It is not the most comfortable feeling in the world to know you are a prisoner, even if you have no key turned upon you but the weather, and your jailer be a high east wind and lashing rain.Leoline's prison and jailer were something worse; and, for the first time, a chill of fear and dismay crept icily to the core of her heart.But Leoline had something of Miranda's courage, as well as her looks and temper;so she tried to feel as brave as possible, and not think of her unpleasant predicament while there remained anything else to think about.Perhaps she might escape, too; and, as this notion struck her, she looked with eager anxiety, not unmixed with curiosity, at the place where she was.By this time, her eyes had been accustomed to the light, which proceeded from a great antique lamp of bronze, pendent by a brass chain from the ceiling; and she saw she was in a moderately sized and by no means splendid room.But what struck her most was, that everything had a look of age about it, from the glittering oak beams of the floor to the faded ghostly hangings on the wall.
There was a bed at one end - a great spectral ark of a thing, like a mausoleum, with drapery as old and spectral as that on the walls, and in which she could no more have lain than in a moth-eaten shroud.The seats and the one table the room held were of the same ancient and weird pattern, and the sight of them gave her a shivering sensation not unlike an ague chill.There was but one door - a huge structure, with shining panels, securely locked; and escape from that quarter was utterly out of the question.There was one window, hung with dark curtains of tarnished embroidery, but in pushing them aside, she met only a dull blank of unlighted glass, for the shutters were firmly secured without.Altogether, she could not form the slightest idea where she was; and, with a feeling of utter despair, she sat down on one of the queer old chairs, with much the same feeling as if she were sitting in a tomb.
What would Sir Norman say? What would he ever think of her, when he found her gone.And what was destined to be her fate in this dreadful out-of-the-way place? She would have cried, as most of her sex would be tempted to do in such a situation, but that her dislike and horror of Count L'Estrange was a good deal stronger than her grief, and turned her tears to sparks of indignant fire.
Never, never, never! would she be his wife! He might kill her a thousand times, if he liked, and she wouldn't yield an inch.She did not mind dying in a good cause; she could do it but once.
And with Sir Norman despising her, as she felt he must do, when he found her run away, she rather liked the idea than otherwise.
Mentally, she bade adieu to all her friends before beginning to prepare for her melancholy fate - to her handsome lover, to his gallant friend Ormiston, to her poor nurse, Prudence, and to her mysterious visitor, La Masque.
La Masque! Ah! that name awoke a new chord of recollection - the casket, she had it with her yet.Instantly, everything was forgotten but it and its contents; and she placed a chair directly under the lamp, drew it out, and looked at it.It was a pretty little bijou itself, with its polished ivory surface, and shining clasps of silver.But the inside had far more interest for her than the outside, and she fitted the key and unlocked it with a trembling hand.It was lined with azure velvet, wrought with silver thread, in dainty wreathe of water lilies; and in the bottom, neatly folded, lay a sheet of foolscap.She opened it with nervous haste; it was a common sheet enough, stamped with fool's cap and bells, that showed it belonged to Cromwell's time.
