"It's all right my ancient friend!" observed Sir Norman, gravely. "These

papers must go before the king, and these jewels to their proper owner."

"Their proper owner!" repeated the old man, shrilly; "that is La Masque.

Thief-robber-housebreaker--stop!"

"My good old friend, you will do yourself a mischief if you bawl like

that. Undoubtedly these things were La Masque's, but they are so no

longer, since La Masque herself is among the things that were!"

"You shall not go!" yelled the old man, trembling with rage and anger.

"Help! help! help!"

"You noisy old idiot!" cried Sir Norman, losing all patience, "I will

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throw you out of the window if you keep up such a clamor as this. I tell

you La Masque is dead!"

At this ominous announcement, the ghastly porter fell back, and became,

if possible, a shade more ghastly than was his wont.

"Dead and buried!" repeated Sir Norman, with gloomy sternness, "and

there will be somebody else coming to take possession shortly. How many

more servants are there here beside yourself?"

"Only one, sir--my wife Joanna. In mercy's name, sir, do not turn us out

in the streets at this dreadful time!"

"Not I! You and your wife Joanna may stagnate here till you blue-mold,

for me. But keep the door fast, my good old friend, and admit no

strangers, but those who can tell you La Masque is dead!"

With which parting piece of advice Sir Norman left the house, and joined

George, who sat like an effigy before the door, in a state of great

mental wrath, and who accosted him rather suddenly the moment he made

his appearance.

"I tell you what, Sir Norman Kingsley, if you have many more morning

calls to make, I shall beg leave to take my departure. As it is, I know

we are behind time, and his ma--the count, I mean, is not one who it

accustomed or inclined to be kept waiting."

"I am quite at your service now," said Sir Norman, springing on

horseback; "so away with you, quick as you like."

George wanted no second order. Before the words were well out of his

companion's mouth, he was dashing away like a bolt from a bow, as

furiously as if on a steeple-chase, with Sir Norman close at his heels;

and they rode, flushed and breathless, with their steeds all a foaming,

into the court-yard of the royal palace at Whitehall, just as the early

rising sun was showing his florid and burning visage above the horizon.

***** The court-yard, unlike the city streets, swarmed with busy life. Pages,

and attendants, and soldiers, moving hither and thither, or lounging

about, preparing for the morning's journey to Oxford. Among the rest

Sir Norman observed Hubert, lying very much at his ease wrapped in his

cloak, on the ground, and chatting languidly with a pert and pretty

attendant of the fair Mistress Stuart. He cut short his flirtation,

however, abruptly enough, and sprang to his feet as he saw Sir Norman,

while George immediately darted off and disappeared from the palace.




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