"A deeper one than you think!" said Sir Norman, with a slight tremor in
his voice as he thought of the lady, "the watchman told you the lady you
sought for had been carried away dead, and thrown into the plague-pit!"
"Well," cried the stranger starting violently, "and was it not true?"
"Only partly. She was carried away in the pest-cart sure enough, but she
was not thrown into the plague-pit!"
"And why?"
"Because, when on reaching that horrible spot, she was found to be
alive!"
"Good Heaven! And what then?"
"Then," exclaimed Sir Norman, in a tone almost as excited as his own,
"she was brought to the house of a friend, and left alone for a few
minutes, while that friend went in search of a doctor. On returning they
found her--where do you think?"
"Where?"
"Gone!" said Sir Norman emphatically, "spirited away by some mysterious
agency; for she was dying of the plague, and could not possibly stir
hand or foot herself."
"Dying of the plague, O Leoline!" said the stranger, in a voice full of
pity and horror, while for a moment he covered his face with his hands.
"So her name is Leoline?" said Sir Norman to himself. "I have found
that out, and also that this gentleman, whatever he may be to her, is as
ignorant of her whereabouts as I am myself. He seems in trouble, too. I
wonder if he really happens to be her husband?"
The stranger suddenly lifted his head and favored Sir Norman with a long
and searching look.
"How come you to know all this, Sir Norman Kingsley," he asked abruptly.
"And how come you to know my name?" demanded Sir Norman, very much
amazed, notwithstanding his assertion that nothing would astonish him
more.
"That is of no consequence! Tell me how you've learned all this?"
repeated the stranger, in a tone of almost stern authority.
Sir Norman started and stared. That voice I have had heard it a
thousand times! It had evidently been disguised before; but now, in the
excitement of the moment, the stranger was thrown off his guard, and it
became perfectly familiar. But where had he heard it? For the life of
him, Sir Norman could not tell, yet it was as well known to him as
his own. It had the tone, too, of one far more used to command than
entreaty; and Sir Norman, instead of getting angry, us he felt he ought
to have done, mechanically answered: "The watchman told you of the two young men who brought her out and laid
her in the dead-cart--I was one of the two."
"And who was the other?"
"A friend of mine--one Malcolm Ormiston."
"Ah! I know him! Pardon my abruptness, Sir Norman," said the stranger,
once more speaking in his assumed suave tone, "but I feel deeply on this
subject, and was excited at the moment. You spoke of her being brought
to the house of a friend--now, who may that friend be, for I was not
aware that she had any?"