CHAPTER VI. LA MASQUE
"Love is like a dizziness," says the old song. Love is somethingelse--it is the most selfish feeling in existence. Of course, I don'tallude to the fraternal or the friendly, or any other such nonsensicalold-fashioned trash that artless people still believe in, but to thereal genuine article that Adam felt for Eve when he first saw her, andwhich all who read this--above the innocent and unsusceptible age oftwelve--have experienced. And the fancy and the reality are so muchalike, that they amount to about the same thing. The former perhaps,may be a little short-lived; but it is just as disagreeable a sensationwhile it lasts as its more enduring sister. Love is said to beblind, and it also has a very injurious effect on the eyesight of itsvictims--an effect that neither spectacles nor oculists can aid in theslightest degree, making them see whether sleeping or waking, but oneobject, and that alone.
I don't know whether these were Mr. Malcolm or Ormiston's thoughts, ashe leaned against the door-way, and folded his arms across his chest toawait the shining of his day-star. In fact, I am pretty sure they werenot: young gentlemen, as a general thing, not being any more given toprofound moralizing in the reign of His Most Gracious Majesty, CharlesII., than they are at the present day; but I do know, that no sooner washis bosom friend and crony, Sir Norman Kingsley, out of sight, thanhe forgot him as totally as if he had never known that distinguishedindividual. His many and deep afflictions, his love, his anguish, andhis provocations; his beautiful, tantalizing, and mysterious lady-love;his errand and its probable consequences, all were forgotten; andOrmiston thought of nothing or nobody in the world but himself and LaMasque. La Masque! La Masque! that was the theme on which his thoughtsrang, with wild variations of alternate hope and fear, like every otherlover since the world began, and love was first an institution. "As itwas in the beginning, is now, and ever shall be," truly, truly it isan odd and wonderful thing. And you and I may thank our stars, dearreaders, that we are a great deal too sensible to wear our hearts inour sleeves for such a bloodthirsty dew to peck at. Ormiston's flame waslonger-lived than Sir Norman's; he had been in love a whole month, andhad it badly, and was now at the very crisis of a malady. Why didshe conceal her face--would she ever disclose it--would she listen tohim--would she ever love him? feverishly asked Passion; and Common Sense(or what little of that useful commodity he had left) answered--probablybecause she was eccentric--possibly she would disclose it for the samereason; that he had only to try and make her listen; and as to herloving him, why, Common Sense owned he had her there.
I can't say whether the adage! "Faint heart never won fair lady!" wasextant in his time; but the spirit of it certainly was, and Ormistondetermined to prove it. He wanted to see La Masque, and try his fateonce again; and see her he would, if he had to stay there as a sort ofornamental prop to the house for a week. He knew he might as well lookfor a needle in a haystack as his whimsical beloved through the streetsof London--dismal and dark now as the streets of Luxor and Tadmor inEgypt; and he wisely resolved to spare himself and his Spanish leathersboots the trial of a one-handed game of "hide-and-go-to-seek." Wisdom,like Virtue, is its own reward; and scarcely had he come to thislaudable conclusion, when, by the feeble glimmer of the house-lamps, hesaw a figure that made his heart bound, flitting through the night-gloomtoward him. He would have known that figure on the sands of Sahara, inan Indian jungle, or an American forest--a tall, slight, supple figure,bending and springing like a bow of steel, queenly and regal as that ofa young empress. It was draped in a long cloak reaching to the ground,in color as black as the night, and clasped by a jewel whose glitteringflash, he saw even there; a velvet hood of the same color covered thestately head; and the mask--the tiresome, inevitable mask covered thebeautiful--he was positive it was beautiful--face. He had seen her ascore of times in that very dress, flitting like a dark, graceful ghostthrough the city streets, and the sight sent his heart plunging againsthis side like an inward sledge-hammer. Would one pulse in her heart stirever so faintly at sight of him? Just as he asked himself the question,and was stepping forward to meet her, feeling very like the countryswain in love--"hot and dry like, with a pain in his side like"--hesuddenly stopped. Another figure came forth from the shadow of anopposite house, and softly pronounced her name. It was a short figure--awoman's figure. He could not see the face, and that was an immenserelief to him, and prevented his having jealousy added to his otherpains and tribulations. La Masque paused as well as he, and her softvoice softly asked:
"Who calls?"
"It is I, madame--Prudence."
"Ah! I am glad to meet you. I have been searching the city through foryou. Where have you been?"
"Madame, I was so frightened that I don't know where I fled to, andI could scarcely make up my mind to come back at all. I did feeldreadfully sorry for her, poor thing! but you know, Madame Masque, Icould do nothing for her, and I should not have come back, only I wasafraid of you."
"You did wrong, Prudence," said La Masque, sternly, or at least assternly as so sweet a voice could speak; "you did very wrong to leaveher in such a way. You should have come to me at once, and told me all."
"But, madame, I was so frightened!"
"Bah! You are nothing but a coward. Come into this doorway, and tell meall about it."
Ormiston drew back as the twain approached, and entered the deep portalsof La Masque's own doorway. He could see them both by the aforesaidfaint lamplight, and he noticed that La Masque's companion was awrinkled old woman, that would not trouble the peace of mind of the mostjealous lover in Christendom. Perhaps it was not just the thing to hoveraloof and listen; but he could not for the life of him help it; andstand and listen he accordingly did. Who knew but this nocturnalconversation might throw some light on the dark mystery he was anxiousto see through, and, could his ears have run into needle-points to hearthe better, he would have had the operation then and there performed.There was a moment's silence after the two entered the portal, duringwhich La Masque stood, tall, dark, and commanding, motionless as amarble column; and the little withered old specimen of humanity besideher stood gazing up at her with something between fear and fascination.
"Do you know what has become of your charge, Prudence?" asked the low,vibrating voice of La Masque, at last.
"How could I, madame? You know I fled from the house, and I dared not goback. Perhaps she is there still."
"Perhaps she is not? Do you suppose that sharp shriek of yours wasunheard? No; she was found; and what do you suppose has become of her?"
The old woman looked up, and seemed to read in the dark, stern figure,and the deep solemn voice, the fatal truth. She wrung her hands with asort of cry.
"Oh! I know, I know; they have put her in the dead-cart, and buried herin the plague-pit. O my dear, sweet young mistress."
"If you had stayed by your dear, sweet young mistress, instead ofrunning screaming away as you did, it might not have happened," said LaMasque, in a tone between derision and contempt.
"Madame," sobbed the old woman, who was crying, "she was dying of theplague, and how could I help it? They would have buried her in spite ofme."
"She was not dead; there was your mistake. She was as much alive as youor I at this moment."
"Madame, I left her dead!" said the old woman positively.
"Prudence, you did no such thing; you left her fainting, and in thatstate she was found and carried to the plague-pit."
The old woman stood silent for a moment, with a face of intense horror,and then she clasped both hands with a wild cry.
"O my God! And they buried her alive--buried her alive in that dreadfulplague-pit!"
La Masque, leaning against a pillar, stood unmoved; and her voice, whenshe spoke, was as coldly sweet as modern ice-cream.
"Not exactly. She was not buried at all, as I happen to know. But whendid you discover that she had the plague, and how could she possiblyhave caught it?"
"That I do not know, madam. She seemed well enough all day, though notin such high spirits as a brid
e should be. Toward evening she complainedof a headache and a feeling of faintness; but I thought nothing of it,and helped her to dress for the bridal. Before it was over, the headacheand faintness grew worse, and I gave her wine, and still suspectednothing. The last time I came in, she had grown so much worse, thatnotwithstanding her wedding dress, she had lain down on her bed, lookingfor all the world like a ghost, and told me she had the most dreadfulburning pain in her chest. Then, madame, the horrid truth struck me--Itore down her dress, and there, sure enough, was the awful mark ofthe distemper. `You have the plague!' I shrieked; and then I fled downstairs and out of the house, like one crazy. O madame, madame! I shallnever forget it--it was terrible! I shall never forget it! Poor, poorchild; and the count does not know a word of it!"
La Masque laughed--a sweet, clear, deriding laugh, "So the count doesnot know it, Prudence? Poor man! he will be in despair when he finds itout, won't he? Such an ardent and devoted lover as he was you know!"
Prudence looked up a little puzzled.
"Yes, madame, I think so. He seemed very fond of her; a great dealfonder than she ever was of him. The fact is, madame," said Prudence,lowering her voice to a confidential stage whisper, "she never seemedfond of him at all, and wouldn't have been married, I think, if shecould have helped it."
"Could have helped it? What do you mean, Prudence? Nobody made her, didthey?"
Prudence fidgeted, and looked rather uneasy.
"Why, madame, she was not exactly forced, perhaps; but you know--youknow you told me--"
"Well?" said La Masque, coldly.
"To do what I could," cried Prudence, in a sort of desperation; "and Idid it, madame, and harassed her about it night and day. And then thecount was there, too, coaxing and entreating; and he was handsome andhad such ways with him that no woman could resist, much less one solittle used to gentlemen as Leoline. And so, Madame Masque, we kept ather till we got her to consent to it at last; but in her secret heart,I know she did not want to be married--at least to the count," saidPrudence, on serious afterthought.
"Well, well; that has nothing to do with it. The question is, where isshe to be found?"
"Found!" echoed Prudence; "has she then been lost?"
"Of coarse she has, you old simpleton! How could she help it, and shedead, with no one to look after her?" said La Masque, with somethinglike a half laugh. "She was carried to the plague-pit in herbridal-robes, jewels and lace; and, when about to be thrown in, wasdiscovered, like Moses is the bulrushes, to be all alive."
"Well," whispered Prudence, breathlessly.
"Well, O most courageous of guardians! she was carried to a certainhouse, and left to her own devices, while her gallant rescuer went for adoctor; and when they returned she was missing. Our pretty Leoline seemsto have a strong fancy for getting lost!"
There was a pause, during which Prudence looked at her with a face fullof mingled fear and curiosity. At last:
"Madame, how do you know all this? Were you there?"
"No. Not I, indeed! What would take me there?"
"Then how do you happen to know everything about it?"
La Masque laughed.
"A little bird told me, Prudence! Have you returned to resume your oldduties?"
"Madame, I dare not go into that house again. I am afraid of taking theplague."
"Prudence, you are a perfect idiot! Are you not liable to take theplague in the remotest quarter of this plague-infested city? And evenif you do take it, what odds? You have only a few years to live, at themost, and what matter whether you die now or at the end of a year ortwo?"
"What matter?" repeated Prudence, in a high key of indignant amazement."It may make no matter to you, Madame Masque, but it makes a great dealto me; I can tell you; and into that infected house I'll not put onefoot."
"Just as you please, only in that case there is no need for furthertalk, so allow me to bid you good-night!"
"But, madame, what of Leoline? Do stop one moment and tell me of her."
"What have I to tell? I have told you all I know. If you want to findher, you must search in the city or in the pest-house!"
Prudence shuddered, and covered her face with her hands.
"O, my poor darling! so good and so beautiful. Heaven might surely havespared her! Are you going to do nothing farther about it?"
"What can I do? I have searched for her and have not found her, and whatelse remains?"
"Madame, you know everything--surely, surely you know where my poorlittle nursling is, among the rest."
Again La Masque laughed--another of her low, sweet, derisive laughs.
"No such thing, Prudence. If I did, I should have her here in atwinkling, depend upon--it. However, it all comes to the same thing inthe end. She is probably dead by this time, and would have to be buriedin the plague-pit, anyhow. If you have nothing further to say, Prudence,you had better bid me good-night, and let me go."
"Good-night, madame!" said Prudence, with a sort of groan, as shewrapped her cloak closely around her, and turned to go.
La Masque stood for a moment looking after her, and then placed a keyin the lock of the door. But there is many a slip--she was not fated toenter as soon as she thought; for just at that moment a new step soundedbeside her, a new voice pronounced her name, and looking around, shebeheld Ormiston. With what feelings that young person had listenedto the neat and appropriate dialogue I have just had the pleasure ofimmortalizing, may be--to use a phrase you may have heard before, onceor twice--better imagined than described. He knew very well who Leolinewas, and how she had been saved from the plague-pit; but where in theworld had La Masque found it out. Lost in a maze of wonder, and inclinedto doubt the evidence of his own ears, he had stood perfectly still,until his ladylove had so coolly dismissed her company, and then rousinghimself just in time, he had come forward and accosted her. La Masqueturned round, regarded him in silence for a moment, and when she spoke,her voice had an accent of mingled surprise and displeasure.
"You, Mr. Ormiston! How many more times am I to have the pleasure ofseeing you again to-night?"
"Pardon, madame; it is the last time. But you must hear me now."
"Must I? Very well, then; if I must, you had better begin at once, forthe night-air is said to be unhealthy, and as good people are scarce, Iwant to take care of myself."
"In that case, perhaps you had better let me enter, too. I hate to talkon the street, for every wall has ears."
"I am aware of that. When I was talking to my old friend, Prudence, twominutes ago, I saw a tall shape that I have reason to know, since ithaunts me, like my own shadow, standing there and paying deed attention.I hope you found our conversation interesting, Mr. Ormiston!"
"Madame!" began Ormiston, turning crimson.
"Oh, don't blush; there is quite light enough from yonder lamp to showthat. Besides," added the lady, easily, "I don't know as I had anyobjection; you are interested in Leoline, and must feel curious to knowsomething about her."
"Madame, what must you think of me? I have acted unpardonably."
"Oh, I know all that. There is no need to apologize, and I don't thinkany the worse of you for it. Will you come to business, Mr. Ormiston?I think I told you I wanted to go in. What may you want of me at thisdismal hour?"
"O madame, need you ask! Does not your own heart tell you?"
"I am not aware that it does! And to tell you the truth, Mr. Ormiston,I don't know that I even have a heart! I am afraid I must trouble you toput it in words."
"Then, madame, I love you!"
"Is that all? If my memory serves me, you have told me that little factseveral times before. Is there anything else tormenting you, or may I goin?"
Ormiston groaned out an oath between his teeth, and La Masque raised onejeweled, snowy taper finger, reprovingly.
"Don't Mr. Ormiston--it's naughty, you know! May I go in?"
"Madame, you are enough to drive a man mad. Is the love I bear youworthy of nothing but mockery!"
"No, Mr. Ormiston, it
is not; that is, supposing you really love me,which you don't."
"Madame!"
"Oh, you needn't flash and look indignant; it is quite true! Don't beabsurd, Mr. Ormiston. How is it possible for you to love one you havenever seen?"
"I have seen you. Do you think I am blind?" he demanded, indignantly.
"My face, I mean. I don't consider that you can see a person withoutlooking in her face. Now you have never looked in mine, and how do youknow I have any face at all?"
"Madame, you mock me."
"Not at all. How are you to know what is behind this mask?"
"I feel it, and that is better; and I love you all the same."
"Mr. Ormiston, how do you know but I am ugly."
"Madame, I do not believe you are; you are all too perfect not to have aperfect face; and even were it otherwise, I still love you!"
She broke into a laugh--one of her low, short, deriding laughs.
"You do! O man, how wise thou art! I tell you, if I took off this mask,the sight would curdle the very blood in your veins with horror--wouldfreeze the lifeblood in your heart. I tell you!" she passionately cried,"there are sights too horrible for human beings to look on and live, andthis--this is one of them!"
He started back, and stared at her aghast.
"You think me mad," she said, in a less fierce tone, "but I am not; andI repeat it, Mr. Ormiston, the sight of what this mask conceals wouldblast you. Go now, for Heaven's sake, and leave me in peace, to drag outthe rest of my miserable life; and if ever you think of me, let it be topray that it might speedily end. You have forced me to say this: so nowbe content. Be merciful, and go!"
She made a desperate gesture, and turned to leave him, but he caught herhand and held her fast.
"Never!" he cried, fiercely. "Say what you will! let that mask hide whatit may! I will never leave you till life leaves me!"
"Man, you are mad! Release my hand and let me go!"
"Madame, hear me. There is but one way to prove my love, and my sanity,and that is--"
"Well?" she said, almost touched by his earnestness.
"Raise your mask and try me! Show me your face and see if I do not loveyou still!"
"Truly I know how much love you will have for me when it is revealed. Doyou know that no one has looked in my face for the last eight years."
He stood and gazed at her in wonder.
"It is so, Mr. Ormiston; and in my heart I have vowed a vow to plungeheadlong into the most loathsome plague-pit in London, rather than everraise it again. My friend, be satisfied. Go and leave me; go and forgetme."
"I can do neither until I have ceased to forget every thing earthly.Madame, I implore you, hear me!"
"Mr. Ormiston, I tell you, you but court your own doom. No one can lookon me and live!"
"I will risk it," he said with an incredulous smile. "Only promise toshow me your face."
"Be it so then!" she cried almost fiercely. "I promise, and be theconsequences on your own head."
His whole face flushed with joy.
"I accept them. And when is that happy time to come?"
"Who knows! What must be done, had best be done quickly; but I tell theeit were safer to play with the lightning's chain than tamper with whatthou art about to do."
"I take the risk! Will you raise your mask now?"
"No, no--I cannot! But yet, I may before the sun rises. My face"--withbitter scorn--"shows better by darkness than by daylight. Will you beout to see, the grand illumination."
"Most certainly."
"Then meet me here an hour after midnight, and the face so long hiddenshall be revealed. But, once again, on the threshold of doom, I entreatyou to pause."
"There is no such word for me!" he fiercely and exultingly cried. "Ihave your promise, and I shall hold you to it! And, madame, if, at last,you discover my love is changeless as fate itself, then--then may I notdare to hope for a return?"
"Yes; then you may hope," she said, with cold mockery. "If your lovesurvives the sight, it will be mighty, indeed, and well worthy areturn."
"And you will return it?"
"I will."
"You will be my wife?"
"With all my heart!"
"My darling!" he cried, rapturously--"for you are mine already--how canI ever thank you for this? If a whole lifetime devoted and consecratedto your happiness can repay you, it shall be yours!"
During this rhapsody, her hand had been on the handle of the door. Nowshe turned it.
"Good-night, Mr. Ormiston," she said, and vanished.