Presentments are strange things. From the first moment Sir Norman

entered the city, and his thoughts had been able to leave Miranda and

find themselves wholly on Leoline, a heavy foreboding of evil to her

had oppressed him. Some danger, he was sure, had befallen her during his

absence--how could it be otherwise with the Earl of Rochester and Count

L'Estrange both on her track? Perhaps, by this time, one or other had

found her, and alone and unaided she had been an easy victim, and was

now borne beyond his reach forever. The thought goaded him and his horse

almost to distraction; for the moment it struck him, he struck spurs

into his horse, making that unoffending animal jump spasmodically, like

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one of those prancing steeds Miss Bonheur is fond of depicting. Through

the streets he flew at a frantic rate, growing more excited and full

of apprehension the nearer he came to old London Bridge; and calling

himself a select litany of hard names inwardly, for having left the dear

little thing at all.

"If I find her safe and well," thought Sir Norman, emphatically,

"nothing short of an earthquake or dying of the plague will ever induce

me to leave her again, until she is Lady Kingsley, and in the old manor

of Devonshire. What a fool, idiot, and ninny I must have been, to have

left her as I did, knowing those two sleuth-hounds were in full chase!

What are all the Mirandas and midnight queens to me, if Leoline is

lost?"

That last question was addressed to the elements in general; and as they

disdained reply, he cantered on furiously, till the old house by the

river was reached. It was the third time that night he had paused to

contemplate it, and each time with very different feelings; first, from

simple curiosity; second, in an ecstasy of delight, and third and last,

in an agony of apprehension. All around was peaceful and still; moon

and stars sailed serenely through a sky of silver and snow; a faint

cool breeze floated up from the river and fanned his hot and fevered

forehead; the whole city lay wrapped in stillness as profound and

deathlike as the fabled one of the marble prince in the Eastern

tale-nothing living moved abroad, but the lonely night-guard keeping

their dreary vigils before the plague-stricken houses, and the

ever-present, ever-busy pest-cart, with its mournful bell and dreadful

cry.

As far as Sir Norman could see, no other human being but himself and

the solitary watchman, so often mentioned, were visible. Even he could

scarcely be said to be present; for, though leaning against the house

with his halberd on his shoulder, he was sound asleep at his post, and

far away in the land of dreams. It was the second night of his watch;

and with a good conscience and a sound digestion, there is no earthly

anguish short of the toothache, strong enough to keep a man awake two

nights in succession. So sound were his balmy slumbers in his airy

chamber, that not even the loud clatter of Sir Norman's horse's hoofs

proved strong enough to arouse him; and that young gentleman, after

glancing at him, made ap his mind to try to find out for himself before

arousing him to seek information.




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