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
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.