"Do you refer to the fair lady in yonder house?"
"So she is there? I thought so, George," said the count, addressing
himself to his companion. "Yes, I refer to her, the lady you saved from
the river. You brought her there?"
"I brought her there," replied Ormiston.
"She is there still?"
"I presume so. I have heard nothing to the contrary."
"And alone?"
"She may be, now. Sir Norman Kingsley was with her when I left her,"
said Ormiston, administering the fact with infinite relish.
There was a moment's silence. Ormiston could not see the count's face;
but, judging from his own feelings, he fancied its expression must be
sweet. The wild rush of the storm alone broke the silence, until the
spirit again moved the count to speak.
"By what right does Sir Norman Kingsley visit her?" he inquired, in a
voice betokening not the least particle of emotion.
"By the best of rights--that of her preserver, hoping soon to be her
lover."
There was an other brief silence, broken again by the count, in the same
composed tone: "Since the lady holds her levee so late, I, too, must have a word
with her, when this deluge permits one to go abroad without danger of
drowning."
"It shown symptoms of clearing off, already," said Ormiston, who, in his
secret heart, thought it would be an excellent joke to bring the rivals
face to face in the lady's presence; "so you will not have long to
wait."
To which observation the count replied not; and the three stood in
silence, watching the fury of the storm.
Gradually it cleared away; and as the moon began to straggle out between
the rifts in the clouds, the count saw something by her pale light that
Ormiston saw not. That latter gentleman, standing with his back to the
house of Leoline, and his face toward that of La Masque, did not observe
the return of Sir Norman from St. Paul's, nor look after him as he rode
away. But the count did both; and ten minutes after, when the rain had
entirely ceased, and the moon and stars got the better of the clouds in
their struggle for supremacy, he beheld La Masque flitting like a dark
shadow in the same direction, and vanishing in at Leoline's door. The
same instant, Ormiston started to go.
"The storm has entirely ceased," he said, stepping out, and with the
profound air of one making a new discovery, "and we are likely to have
fine weather for the remainder of the night--or rather, morning. Good
night, count."
"Farewell," said the count, as he and, his companion came out from the
shadow of the archway, and turned to follow La Masque.
Ormiston, thinking the hour of waiting had elapsed, and feeling much
more interested in the coming meeting than in Leoline or her visitors,
paid very little attention to his two acquaintances. He saw them, it
is true, enter Leoline's house, but at the same instant, he took up his
post at La Masque's doorway, and concentrated his whole attention on
that piece of architecture. Every moment seemed like a week now; and
before he had stood at his post five minutes, he had worked himself up
into a perfect fever of impatience. Sometimes he was inclined to knock
and seek La Masque in her own home; but as often the fear of a chilling
rebuke paralyzed his hand when he raised it. He was so sure she was
within the house, that he never thought of looking for her elsewhere;
and when, at the expiration of what seemed to him a century or two,
but which in reality was about a quarter of an hour, there was a soft
rustling of drapery behind him, and the sweetest of voices sounded in
his ear, it fairly made him bound.