CHAPTER, XXI. WHAT WAS BEHIND THE MASK.
The cowering form rose up; but, seeing who it was, sank down again, withits face groveling in the dust, and with another prolonged, moaning cry.
"Madame Masque!" he said, wonderingly; "what is this?"
He bent to raise her; but, with a sort of scream she held out her armsto keep him back.
"No, no, no! Touch me not! Hate me--kill me! I have murdered yourfriend!"
Sir Norman recoiled as if from a deadly serpent.
"Murdered him! Madame, in Heaven's name, what have you said?"
"Oh, I have not stabbed him, or poisoned him, or shot him; but I amhis murderer, nevertheless!" she wailed, writhing in a sort of gnawinginward torture.
"Madame, I do not understand you at all! Surely you are raving when youtalk like this."
Still moaning on the edge of the plague-pit, she half rose up, with bothhands clasped tightly over her heart, as if she would have held backfrom all human ken the anguish that was destroying her,
"NO--no! I am not mad--pray Heaven I were! Oh, that they had strangledme in the first hour of my birth, as they would a viper, rather than Ishould have lived through all this life of misery and guilt, to end itby this last, worst crime of all!"
Sir Norman stood and looked at her still with a dazed expression. Heknew well enough whose murderer she called herself; but why she didso, or how she could possibly bring about his death, was a mysteryaltogether too deep for him to solve.
"Madame, compose yourself, I beseech you, and tell me what you mean. Itis to my friend, Ormiston, you allude--is it not?"
"Yes--yes! surely you need not ask."
"I know that he is dead, and buried in this horrible place; but why youshould accuse yourself of murdering him, I confess I do not know."
"Then you shall!" she cried, passionately. "And you will wonder at it nolonger! You are the last one to whom the revelation can ever be made onearth; and, now that my hours are numbered, it matters little whether itis told or not! Was it not you who first found him dead?"
"It was I--yes. And how he came to his end, I have been puzzling myselfin vain to discover ever since."
She rose up, drew herself to her full majestic height, and looked at himwith a terrible glance,
"Shall I tell you?"
"You have had no hand in it," he answered, with a cold chill at the toneand look, "for he loved you!"
"I have had a hand in it--I alone have been the cause of it. But for mehe would be living still!"
"Madame," exclaimed Sir Norman, in horror.
"You need not look as if you thought me mad, for I tell you it isHeaven's truth! You say right--he loved me; but for that love he wouldbe living now!"
"You speak in riddles which I cannot read. How could that love havecaused his death, since his dearest wishes were to be granted to-night?"
"He told you that, did he?"
"He did. He told me you were to remove your mask; and if, on seeing you,he still loved you, you were to be his wife."
"Then woe to him for ever having extorted such a promise from me! Oh,I warned him again, and again, and again. I told him how it would be--Ibegged him to desist; but no, he was blind, he was mad; he would rush onhis own doom! I fulfilled my promise, and behold the result!"
She pointed with a frantic gesture to the plague-pit, and wrung herbeautiful hands with the same moaning of anguish.
"Do I hear aright?" said Sir Norman, looking at her, and really doubtingif his ears had not deceived him. "Do you mean to say that, in keepingyour word and showing him your face, you have caused his death?"
"I do. I had warned him of it before. I told him there were sights toohorrible to look on and live, but nothing would convince him! Oh, whywas the curse of life ever bestowed upon such a hideous thing as I!"
Sir Norman gazed at her in a state of hopeless bewilderment. He hadthought, from the moment he saw her first, that there was somethingwrong with her brain, to make her act in such a mysterious, eccentricsort of way; but he had never positively thought her so far gone asthis. In his own mind, he set her down, now, as being mad as a Marchhare, and accordingly answered in that soothing tone people use toimbeciles,
"My dear Madame Masque, pray do not excite yourself, or say suchdreadful things. I am sure you would not willfully cause the death ofany one, much less that of one who loved you as he did."
La Masque broke into a wild laugh, almost worse to hear than her formerdespairing moans.
"The man thinks me mad! He will not believe, unless he sees and knowsfor himself! Perhaps you, too, Sir Norman Kingsley," she cried,changing into sudden fierceness, "would like to see the face behindthis mask?--would like to see what has slain your friend, and share hisfate?"
"Certainly," said Sir Norman. "I should like to see it; and I think Imay safely promise not to die from the effects. But surely, madame, youdeceive yourself; no face, however ugly--even supposing you to possesssuch a one--could produce such dismay as to cause death."
"You shall see."
She was looking down into the plague-pit, standing so close to itscracking edge, that Sir Norman's blood ran cold, in the momentaryexpectation to see her slip and fall headlong in. Her voice was lessfierce and less wild, but her hands were still clasped tightly over herheart, as if to ease the unutterable pain there. Suddenly, she lookedup, and said, in an altered tone:
"You have lost Leoline?"
"And found her again. She is in the power of one Count L'Estrange."
"And if in his power, pray, how have you found her?"
"Because we are both to meet in her presence within this very hour, andshe is to decide between us."
"Has Count L'Estrange promised you this?"
"He has."
"And you have no doubt what her decision will be?"
"Not the slightest."
"How came you to know she was carried off by this count?"
"He confessed it himself."
"Voluntarily?"
"No; I taxed him with it, and he owned to the deed; but he voluntarilypromised to take me to her and abide by her decision."
"Extraordinary!" said La Masque, as if to herself. "Whimsical as he is,I scarcely expected he would give her up so easily as this."
"Then you know him, madame?" said Sir Norman, pointedly.
"There are few things I do not know, and rare are the disguises I cannotpenetrate. So you have discovered it, too?"
"No, madame, my eyes were not sharp enough, nor had I sufficientcleverness, even, for that. It was Hubert, the Earl of Rochester's page,who told me who he was."
"Ah, the page!" said La Masque, quickly. "You have then been speaking tohim? What do you think of his resemblance to Leoline?"
"I think it is the most astonishing resemblance I ever saw. But he isnot the only one who bears Leoline's face."
"And the other is?"
"The other is she whom you sent me to see in the old ruins. Madame, Iwish you would tell me the secret of this wonderful likeness; for I amcertain you know, and I am equally certain it is not accidental."
"You are right. Leoline knows already; for, with the presentiment thatmy end was near, I visited her when you left, and gave her her wholehistory, in writing. The explanation is simple enough. Leoline, Miranda,and Hubert, are sisters and brother."
Some misty idea that such was the case had been struggling through SirNorman's slow mind, unformed and without shape, ever since he had seenthe trio, therefore he was not the least astonished when he heard thefact announced. Only in one thing he was a little disappointed.
"Then Hubert is really a boy?" he said, half dejectedly.
"Certainly he is. What did you take him to be?"
"Why, I thought--that is, I do not know," said Sir Norman, quiteblushing at being guilty of so much romance, "but that he was a womanin disguise. You see he is so handsome, and looks so much like Leoline,that I could not help thinking so."
"He is Leoline's twin brother--that accounts for it. When does shebeco
me your wife?"
"This very morning, God willing!" said Sir Norman, fervently.
"Amen! And may her life and yours be long and happy. What becomes of therest?"
"Since Hubert is her brother, he shall come with us, if he will. As forthe other, she, alas! is dead."
"Dead!" cried La Masque. "How? When? She was living, tonight!"
"True! She died of a wound."
"A wound? Surely not given by the dwarfs hand?"
"No, no; it was quite accidental. But since you know so much of thedwarf, perhaps you also know he is now the king's prisoner?"
"I did not know it; but I surmised as much when I discovered that youand Count L'Estrange, followed by such a body of men, visited the ruin.Well, his career has been long and dark enough, and even the plagueseemed to spare him for the executioner. And so the poor mock-queen isdead? Well, her sister will not long survive her."
"Good Heavens, madame!" cried Sir Norman, aghast. "You do not mean tosay that Leoline is going to die?"
"Oh, no! I hope Leoline has a long and happy life before her. But thewretched, guilty sister I mean is, myself; for I, too, Sir Norman, amher sister."
At this new disclosure, Sir Norman stood perfectly petrified; and LaMasque, looking down at the dreadful place at her feet, went rapidly on:
"Alas and alas! that it should be so; but it is the direful truth. Webear the same name, we had the same father; and yet I have been thecurse and bane of their lives."
"And Leoline knows this?"
"She never knew it until this night, or any one else alive; and no oneshould know it now, were not my ghastly life ending. I prayed her toforgive me for the wrong I have done her; and she may, for she is gentleand good--but when, when shall I be able to forgive myself?"
The sharp pain in her voice jarred on Sir Norman's ear and heart; and,to get rid of its dreary echo, he hurriedly asked:
"You say you bear the same name. May I ask what name that is?"
"It is one, Sir Norman Kingsley, before which your own ancient titlepales. We are Montmorencis, and in our veins runs the proudest blood inFrance."
"Then Leoline is French and of noble birth?" said Sir Norman, witha thrill of pleasure. "I loved her for herself alone, and would havewedded her had she been the child of a beggar; but I rejoice to hearthis nevertheless. Her father, then, bore a title?"
"Her father was the Marquis de Montmorenci, but Leoline's mother andmine were not the same--had they been, the lives of all four might havebeen very different; but it is too late to lament that now. My motherhad no gentle blood in her veins, as Leoline's had, for she was but afisherman's daughter, torn from her home, and married by force. Neitherdid she love my father notwithstanding his youth, rank, and passionatelove for her, for she was betrothed to another bourgeois, like herself.For his sake she refused even the title of marchioness, offered her inthe moment of youthful and ardent passion, and clung, with deathlesstruth, to her fisher-lover. The blood of the Montmorencis is fierceand hot, and brooks no opposition" (Sir Norman thought of Miranda, andinwardly owned that that was a fact); "and the marquis, in his jealouswrath, both hated and loved her at the same time, and vowed deadlyvengeance against her bourgeois lover. That vow he kept. The youngfisherman was found one morning at his lady-love's door without a head,and the bleeding trunk told no tales.
"Of course, for a while, she was distracted and so on; but when thefirst shock of her grief was over, my father carried her off, andforcibly made her his wife. Fierce hatred, I told you, was mingled withhis fierce love, and before the honeymoon was over it began to breakout. One night, in a fit of jealous passion, to which he was addicted,he led her into a room she had never before been permitted to enter;showed her a grinning human skull, and told her it was her lover's!In his cruel exultation, he confessed all; how he had caused him to bemurdered; his head severed from the body; and brought here to punishher, some day, for her obstinate refusal to love him.
"Up to this time she had been quiet and passive, bearing her fate witha sort of dumb resignation; but now a spirit of vengeance, fiercer andmore terrible than his own, began to kindle within her; and, kneelingdown before the ghastly thing, she breathed a wish--a prayer--to theavenging Jehovah, so unutterably horrible, that even her husband hadto fly with curdling blood from the room. That dreadful prayer washeard--that wish fulfilled in me; but long before I looked on the lightof day that frantic woman had repented of the awful deed she had done.Repentance came too late the sin of the father was visited on the child,and on the mother, too, for the moment her eyes fell upon me, she becamea raving maniac, and died before the first day of my life had ended.
"Nurse and physician fled at the sight of me; but my father, thoughthrilling with horror, bore the shock, and bowed to the retributivejustice of the angry Deity she had invoked. His whole life, his wholenature, changed from that hour; and, kneeling beside my dead mother, ashe afterward told me, he vowed before high Heaven to cherish and loveme, even as though I had not been the ghastly creature I was. Thephysician he bound by a terrible oath to silence; the nurse he forcedback, and, in spite of her disgust and abhorrence, compelled her tonurse and care for me. The dead was buried out of sight; and we hadrooms in a distant part of the house, which no one ever entered butmy father and the nurse. Though set apart from my birth as somethingaccursed, I had the intellect and capacity of--yes, far greaterintellect and capacity than, most children; and, as years passed by, myfather, true to his vow, became himself my tutor and companion. He didnot love me--that was an utter impossibility; but time so blunts theedge of all things, that even the nurse became reconciled to me, and myfather could scarcely do less than a stranger. So I was cared for, andinstructed, and educated; and, knowing not what a monstrosity I was, Iloved them both ardently, and lived on happily enough, in my splendidprison, for my first ten years in this world.
"Then came a change. My nurse died; and it became clear that I must quitmy solitary life, and see the sort of world I lived in. So my father,seeing all this, sat down in the twilight one night beside me, and toldme the story of my own hideousness. I was but a child then, and it ismany and many years ago; but this gray summer morning, I feel what Ifelt then, as vividly as I did at the time. I had not learned the greatlesson of life then--endurance, I have scarcely learned it yet, or Ishould bear life's burden longer; but that first night's despairhas darkened my whole after-life. For weeks I would not listen to myfather's proposal, to hide what would send all the world from me inloathing behind a mask; but I came to my senses at last, and fromthat day to the present--more days than either you or I would care tocount--it has not been one hour altogether off my face."
"I was the wonder and talk of Paris, when I did appear; and most of thesurmises were wild and wide of the mark--some even going so far as tosay it was all owing to my wonderful unheard-of beauty that I was thusmysteriously concealed from view. I had a soft voice, and a tolerableshape; and upon this, I presume, they founded the affirmation. But myfather and I kept our own council, and let them say what they listed.I had never been named, as other children are; but they called meLa Masque now. I had masters and professors without end, and studiedastronomy and astrology, and the mystic lore of the old Egyptians, andbecame noted as a prodigy and a wonder, and a miracle of learning, farand near.
"The arts used to discover the mystery and make me unmask wereinnumerable and almost incredible; but I baffled them all, and began,after a time, rather to enjoy the sensation I created than otherwise.
"There was one, in particular, possessed of even more devouringcuriosity than the rest, a certain young countess of miraculous beauty,whom I need not describe, since you have her very image in Leoline.The Marquis de Montmorenci, of a somewhat inflammable nature, loved heralmost as much as he had done my mother, and she accepted him, and theywere married. She may have loved him (I see no reason why she shouldnot), but still to this day I think it was more to discover the secretof La Masque than from any other cause. I loved my beautiful new mothertoo well to let her f
ind it out; although from the day she entered ourhouse as a bride, until that on which she lay on her deathbed, her wholeaim, day and night, was its discovery. There seemed to be a fatalityabout my father's wives; for the beautiful Honorine lived scarcelylonger than her predecessor, and she died, leaving three children--allborn at one time--you know them well, and one of them you love. To mycare she intrusted them on her deathbed, and she could have scarcelyintrusted them to worse; for, though I liked her, I most decidedlydisliked them. They were lovely children--their lovely mother's image;and they were named Hubert, Leoline, and Honorine, or, as you knew her,Miranda. Even my father did not seem to care for them much, not evenas much as he cared for me; and when he lay on his deathbed, one yearlater, I was left, young as I was, their sole guardian, and trustee ofall his wealth. That wealth was not fairly divided--one-half being leftto me and the other half to be shared equally between them; but, in mywicked ambition, I was not satisfied even with that. Some of my father'sfierce and cruel nature I inherited; and I resolved to be clear of thesethree stumbling-blocks, and recompense myself for my other misfortunesby every indulgence boundless riches could bestow. So, secretly, and inthe night, I left my home, with an old and trusty servant, known to youas Prudence, and my unfortunate, little brother and sisters. Strangeto say, Prudence was attached to one of them, and to neither of therest--that one was Leoline, whom she resolved to keep and care for, andneither she nor I minded what became of the other two."
"From Paris we went to Dijon, where we dropped Hubert into the turn atthe convent door, with his name attached, and left him where he wouldbe well taken care of, and no questions asked. With the other two westarted for Calais, en route for England; and there Prudence got ridof Honorine in a singular manner. A packet was about starting for theisland of our destination, and she saw a strange-looking little mancarrying his luggage from the wharf into a boat. She had the infant inher arms, having carried it out for the identical purpose of getting ridof it; and, without more ado, she laid it down, unseen, among boxes andbundles, and, like Hagar, stood afar off to see what became of it. Thatugly little man was the dwarf; and his amazement on finding it amonghis goods and chattels you may imagine; but he kept it, notwithstanding,though why, is best known to himself. A few weeks after that we, too,came over, and Prudence took up her residence in a quiet village a longway from London. Thus you see, Sir Norman, how it comes about that weare so related, and the wrong I have done them all."
"You have, indeed!" said Sir Norman, gravely, having listened, muchshocked and displeased, at this open confession; "and to one of them itis beyond our power to atone. Do you know the life of misery to whichshe has been assigned?"
"I know it all, and have repented for it in my own heart, in dustand ashes! Even I--unlike all other earthly creatures as I am--have aconscience, and it has given me no rest night or day since. From thathour I have never lost sight of them; every sorrow they have undergonehas been known to me, and added to my own; and yet I could not, or wouldnot, undo what I had done. Leoline knows all now; and she will tellHubert, since destiny has brought them together; and whether they willforgive me I know not. But yet they might; for they have long and happylives before them, and we can forgive everything to the dead."
"But you are not dead," said Sir Norman; "and there is repentance andpardon for all. Much as you have wronged them, they will forgive you;and Heaven is not less merciful than they!"
"They may; for I have striven to atone. In my house there are proofs andpapers that will put them in possession of all, and more than all, theyhave lost. But life is a burden of torture I will bear no longer. Thedeath of him who died for me this night is the crowning tragedy of mymiserable life; and if my hour were not at hand, I should not have toldyou this."
"But you have not told me the fearful cause of so much guilt andsuffering. What is behind that mask?"
"Would you, too, see?" she asked, in a terrible voice, "and die?"
"I have told you it is not in my nature to die easily, and it issomething far stronger than mere curiosity makes me ask."
"Be it so! The sky is growing red with day-dawn, and I shall never seethe sun rise more, for I am already plague-struck!"
That sweetest of all voices ceased. The white hands removed themask, and the floating coils of hair, and revealed, to Sir Norman'shorror-struck gaze, the grisly face and head, and the holloweye-sockets, the grinning mouth, and fleshless cheeks of a skeleton!
He saw it but for one fearful instant--the next, she had thrown up botharms, and leaped headlong into the loathly plague-pit. He saw her fora second or two, heaving and writhing in the putrid heap; and then thestrong man reeled and fell with his face on the ground, not feigning,but sick unto death. Of all the dreadful things he had witnessed thatnight, there was nothing so dreadful as this; of all the horror he hadfelt before, there was none to equal what he felt now. In his momentarydelirium, it seemed to him she was reaching her arms of bone up to draghim in, and that the skeleton-face was grinning at him on the edge ofthe awful pit. And, covering his eyes with his hands, he sprang up, andfled away.