“Let us go,” said the queen, glancing at the revolting sight, and turning away with a shudder of repulsion. “Faugh! The sight of blood has made me sick.”

“And taken away my appetite for supper,” added a youthful and elegant beauty beside her. “My Lord Gloucester was hideous enough when living, but, mon Dieu! he is ten times more so when dead!”

“Your ladyship will not have the same story to tell of yonder stranger, when he shares the same fate in an hour or two!” said the dwarf, with a malicious grin; “for I heard you remarking upon his extreme beauty when he first appeared.”

The lady laughed and bowed, and turned her bright eyes upon Sir Norman.

“True! It is almost a pity to cut such a handsome head off—is it not? I wish I had a voice in your highness's council, and I know what I should do.”

“What, Lady Mountjoy?”

“Entreat him to swear fealty, and become one of us; and—”

“And a bridegroom for your ladyship?” suggested the queen, with a curling lip. “I think if Sir Norman Kingsley knew Lady Mountjoy as well as I do, he would even prefer the block to such a fate!”

Lady Mountjoy's brilliant eyes shone like two angry meteors; but she merely bowed and laughed; and the laugh was echoed by the dwarf in his shrillest falsetto.

“Does your highness intend remaining here all night?” demanded the queen, rather fiercely. “If not, the sooner we leave this ghastly place the better. The play is over, and supper is waiting.”

With which the royal virago made an imperious motion for her attendant sprites in gossamer white to precede her, and turned with her accustomed stately step to follow. The music immediately changed from its doleful dirge to a spirited measure, and the whole company flocked after her, back to the great room of state. There they all paused, hovering in uncertainty around the room, while the queen, holding her purple train up lightly in one hand, stood at the foot of the throne, glancing at them with her cold, haughty and beautiful eyes. In their wandering, those same darkly-splendid eyes glanced and lighted on Sir Norman, who, in a state of seeming stupor at the horrible scene he had just witnessed, stood near the green table, and they sent a thrill through him with their wonderful resemblance to Leoline's. So vividly alike were they, that he half doubted for a moment whether she and Leoline were not really one; but no—Leoline never could have had the cold, cruel heart to stand and witness such a horrible sight. Miranda's dark, piercing glance fell as haughtily and disdainfully on him as it had on the rest; and his heart sank as he thought that whatever sympathy she had felt for him was entirely gone. It might have been a whim, a woman's caprice, a spirit of contradiction, that had induced her to defend him at first. Whatever it was, and it mattered not now, it had completely vanished. No face of marble could have been colder, or stonier, or harder, than hers, as she looked at him out of the depths of her great dark eyes; and with that look, his last lingering hope of life vanished.

“And now for the next trial!” exclaimed the dwarf, briskly breaking in upon his drab-colored meditations, and bustling past. “We will get it over at once, and have done with it!”

“You will do no such thing!” said the imperious voice of the queenly shrew. “We will have neither trials nor anything else until after supper, which has already been delayed four full minutes. My lord chamberlain, have the goodness to step in and see that all is in order.”

One of the gilded and decorated gentlemen whom sir Norman had mistaken for ambassadors stepped off, in obedience, through another opening in the tapestry—which seemed to be as extensively undermined with such apertures as a cabman's coat with capes—and, while he was gone, the queen stood drawn up to her full height, with her scornful face looking down on the dwarf. That small man knit up his very plain face into a bristle of the sourest kinks, and frowned sulky disapproval at an order which he either would not, or dared not, countermand. Probably the latter had most to do with it, as everybody looked hungry and mutinous, and a great deal more eager for their supper than the life of Sir Norman Kingsley.

“Your majesty, the royal banquet is waiting,” insinuated the lord high chamberlain, returning, and bending over until his face and his shoe buckles almost touched.

“And what is to be done with this prisoner, while we are eating it?” growled the dwarf, looking drawn swords at his liege lady.

“He can remain here under care of the guards, can he not?” she retorted sharply. “Or, if you are afraid they are not equal to taking care of him, you had better stay and watch him yourself.”

With which answer, her majesty sailed majestically away, leaving the gentleman addressed to follow or not, as he pleased. It pleased him to do so, on the whole; and he went after her, growling anathemas between his royal teeth, and evidently in the same state of mind that induces gentlemen in private life to take sticks to their aggravating spouses, under similar circumstances. However, it might not be just the thing, perhaps, for kings and queens to take broom-sticks to settle their little differences of opinion, like common Christians; and so the prince peaceably followed her, and entered the salle a manger with the rest, and Sir Norman and his keepers were left in the hall of state, monarchs of all they surveyed. Notwithstanding he knew his hours were numbered, the young knight could not avoid feeling curious, and the tapestry having been drawn aside, he looked through the arch with a good deal of interest.

The apartment was smaller than the one in which he stood—though still very large, and instead of being all crimson and gold, was glancing and glittering with blue and silver. These azure hangings were of satin, instead of velvet, and looked quite light and cool, compared to the hot, glowing place where he was. The ceiling was spangled over with silver stars, with the royal arms quartered in the middle, and the chairs were of white, polished wood, gleaming like ivory, and cushioned with blue satin. The table was of immense length, as it had need to be, and flashed and sparkled in the wax lights with heaps of gold and silver plate, cut-glass, and precious porcelain. Golden and crimson wines shone in the carved decanters; great silver baskets of fruit were strewn about, with piles of cakes and confectionery—not to speak of more solid substantials, wherein the heart of every true Englishman delighteth. The queen sat in a great, raised chair at the head, and helped herself without paying much attention to anybody, and the remainder were ranged down its length, according to their rank—which, as they were all pretty much dukes and duchesses, was about equal.

The spirits of the company—depressed for a moment by the unpleasant little circumstance of seeing one of their number beheaded—seemed to revive under the spirituous influence of sherry, sack, and burgundy; and soon they were laughing, and chatting, and hobnobbing, as animatedly as any dinner-party Sir Norman had ever seen. The musicians, too, appeared to be in high feather, and the merriest music of the day assisted the noble banqueters' digestion.

Under ordinary circumstances, it was rather a tantalizing scene to stand aloof and contemplate; and so the guards very likely felt; but Sir Norman's thoughts were of that room in black, the headsman's axe, and Leoline. He felt he would never see her again—never see the sun rise that was to shine on their bridal; and he wondered what she would think of him, and if she was destined to fall into the hands of Lord Rochester or Count L'Estrange. As a general thing, our young friend was not given to melancholy moralizing, but in the present case, with the headsman's axe poised like the sword of Damocles above him by a single hair, he may be pardoned for reflecting that this world is all a fleeting show, and that he had got himself into a scrape, to which the plague was a trifle. And yet, with nervous impatience, he wished the dinner and his trial were over, his fate sealed, and his life ended at once, since it was to be ended soon. For the fulfillment of the first wish, he had not long to wait; the feast, though gay and grand, was of the briefest, and they could have scarcely been half an hour gone when they were all back.

Everybody seemed in better humor, too, after the refection, but the queen and the dwarf—the former looked colder, and harder, and more like a Labrador iceberg tricked out in purple velvet, than ever, and his highness was grinning from ear to ear—which was the very worst possible sign. Not even her majesty could make the slightest excuse for delaying the trial now; and, indeed, that eccentric lady seemed to have no wish to do so, had she the power, but seated herself in silent disdain of them all, and dropping her long lashes over her dark eyes, seemed to forget there was anybody in existence but herself.

His highness and his nobles took their stations of authority behind the green table, and summoned the guards to lead the prisoner up before them, which was done; while the rest of the company were fluttering down into their seats, and evidently about to pay the greatest attention. The cases in this midnight court seemed to be conducted on a decidedly original plan, and with an easy rapidity that would have electrified any other court, ancient or modern. Sir Norman took his stand, and eyed his judges with a look half contemptuous, half defiant; and the proceedings commenced by the dwarf a leaning forward and breaking into a roar of laughter, right in his face.

“My little friend I warned you before not to be so facetious,” said Sir Norman, regarding him quietly; “a rush of mirth to the brain will certainly be the death of you one of these day.”

“No levity, young man!” interposed the lord chancellor, rebukingly; “remember, you are addressing His Royal Highness Prince Caliban, Spouse, and Consort of Her Most Gracious Majesty, Miranda!”

“Indeed! Then all I have to say, is, that her majesty has very bad taste in the selection of a husband, unless, indeed, her wish was to marry the ugliest man in the world, as she herself is the most beautiful of women!”

Her majesty took not the slightest notice of this compliment, not so much as a flatter of her drooping eye-lashes betrayed that she even heard it, but his highness laughed until he was perfectly hoarse.

“Silence!” shouted the duke, shocked and indignant at this glaring disrespect, “and answer truthfully the questions put to you. Your name, you say, is Sir Norman Kingsley?”

“Yes. Has your grace any objection to it?”

His grace waved down the interruption with a dignified wave of the hand, and went on with severe judicial dignity.

“You are the same who shot Lord Ashley between this and the city, some hours ago?”

“I had the pleasure of shooting a highwayman there, and my only regret is, I did not perform the same good office by his companion, in the person of your noble self, before you turned and fled.”

A slight titter ran round the room, and the duke turned crimson.

“These remarks are impertinent, and not to the purpose. You are the murderer of Lord Ashley, let that suffice. Probably you were on your way hither when you did the deed?”

“He was,” said the dwarf, vindictively. “I met him at the Golden Crown but a short time after.”

“Very well, that is another point settled, and either of them is strong enough to seal his death warrant. You came here as a spy, to see and hear and report—probably you were sent by King Charles?”

“Probably—just think as you please about it!” said Sir Norman, who knew his case was as desperate as it could be, and was quite reckless what he answered.

“You admit that you are a spy, then?”

“No such thing. I have owned nothing. As I told you before, you are welcome to put what construction you please on my actions.”

“Sir Norman Kingsley, this is nonsensical equivocation! You own you came to hear and see?”

“Well!”

“Well, hearing and seeing constitute spying, do they not? Therefore, you are a spy.”

“I confess it looks like it. What next?”

“Need you ask What is the fate of all spies?”

“No matter what they are in other places, I am pretty certain what they are here!”

“And that is?”

“A room in black, and a chop with an axe—the Earl of Gloucester's fate, in a word!”

“You have said it! Have you any reason why such a sentence should not be pronounced on you?”

“None; pronounce it as soon as you like.”

“With the greatest pleasure!” said the duke, who had been scrawling on another ominous roll of vellum, and now passed it to the dwarf. “I never knew anyone it gave me more delight to condemn. Will your highness pass that to her majesty for signature, and pronounce his sentence.”

His highness, with a grin of most exquisite delight, did as directed; and Sir Norman looked steadfastly at the queen as she received it. One of the gauzy nymphs presented it to her, kneeling, and she took it with a look half bored, half impatient, and lightly scrawled her autograph. The long, dark lashes did not lift; no change passed over the calm, cold face, as icily placid as a frozen lake in the moonlight—evidently the life or death of the stranger was less than nothing to her. To him she, too, was as nothing, or nearly so; but yet there was a sharp jarring pain at his heart, as he saw that fair hand, that had saved him once, so coolly sign his death warrant now. But there was little time left for to watch her; for, as she pushed it impatiently away, and relapsed into her former proud listlessness, the dwarf got up with one of his death's-head grins, and began:

“Sir Norman Kingsley, you have been tried and convicted as a spy, and the paid-hireling of the vindictive and narrow-minded Charles; and the sentence of this court, over which I have the honor to preside, is, that you be taken hence immediately to the place of execution, and there lose your head by the axe!”

“And a mighty small loss it will be!” remarked the duke to himself, in a sort of parenthesis, as the dwarf concluded his pleasant observation by thrusting himself forward across the table, after his rather discomposing fashion, and breaking out into one of his diabolical laughter-claps.

The queen, who had been sitting passive, and looking as if she were in spirit a thousand miles away, now started up with sharp suddenness, and favored his highness with one of her fieriest fiery glances.

“Will your highness just permit somebody else to have a voice in that matter? How many more trials are to come on tonight?”

“Only one,” replied the duke, glancing over a little roll which he held; “Lady Castlemaine's, for poisoning the Duchess of Sutherland.”

“And what is my Lady Castlemaine's fate to be?”

“The same as our friend's here, in all probability,” nodding easily, not to say playfully, at Sir Norman.

“And how long will her trial last?”

“Half an hour, or thereabouts. There are some secrets in the matter that have to be investigated, and which will require some time.”

“Then let all the trials be over first, and all the beheadings take place together. We don't choose to take the trouble of traveling to the Black Chamber just to see his head chopped off, and then have the same journey to undergo half an hour after, for a similar purpose. Call Lady Castlemaine, and let this prisoner be taken to one of the dungeons, and there remain until the time for execution. Guards, do you hear? Take him away!”

The dwarf's face grew black as a thunder-cloud, and he jumped to his feet and confronted the queen with a look so intensely ugly that no other earthly face could have assumed it. But that lady merely met it with one of cold disdain and aversion, and, keeping her dark bright eyes fixed chillingly upon him, waved her white hand, in her imperious way, to the guards. Those warlike gentlemen knew better than to disobey her most gracious majesty when she happened to be, like Mrs. Joe Gargary, on the “rampage,” which, if her flashing eye and a certain expression about her handsome mouth spoke the truth, must have been twenty hours out of the twenty-four. As the soldiers approached to lead him away, Sir Norman tried to catch her eye; but in vain, for she kept those brilliant optics most unwinkingly fixed on the dwarf's face.

“Call Lady Castlemaine,” commanded the duke, as Sir Norman with his guards passed through the doorway leading to the Black Chamber. “Your highness, I presume, is ready to attend to her case.”

“Before I attend to hers or any one else's case,” said the dwarf, hopping over the table like an overgrown toad, “I will first see that this guest of ours is properly taken care, of, and does not leave us without the ceremony of saying good-bye.”

With which, he seized one of the wax candles, and trotted, with rather unprincely haste, after Sir Norman and his conductors. The young knight had been led down the same long passage he had walked through before; but instead of entering the chamber of horrors, they passed through the centre arch, and found themselves in another long, vaulted corridor, dimly lit by the glow of the outer one. It was as cold and dismal a place, Sir Norman thought, as he had ever seen; and it had an odor damp and earthy, and of the grave. It had two or three great, ponderous doors on either side, fastened with huge iron bolts; and before one of these his conductors paused. Just as they did so, the glimmer of the dwarf's taper pierced the gloom, and the next moment, smiling from ear to ear, he was by their side.

“Down with the bars!” he cried. “This is the one for him—the strongest and safest of them all. Now, my dashing courtier, you will see how tenderly your little friend provides for his favorites!”

If Sir Norman made any reply, it was drowned in the rattle and clank of the massive bars, and is hopelessly lost to posterity. The huge door swung back; but nothing was visible but a sort of black velvet pall, and effluvia much stronger than sweet. Involuntarily he recoiled as one of the guards made a motion for him to enter.

“I Shove him in! shove him in!” shrieked the dwarf, who was getting so excited with glee that he was dancing about in a sort of jig of delight. “In with him—in with him! If he won't go peaceably, kick him in head-foremost!”

“I would strongly advise them not to try it,” said Sir Norman, as he stepped into the blackness, “if they have any regard for their health! It does not make much difference after all, my little friend, whether I spend the next half-hour in the inky blackness of this place or the blood-red grandeur of your royal court. My little friend, until we meet again, permit me to say, au revoir.”

The dwarf laughed in his pleasant way, and pushed the candle cautiously inside the door.

“Good-by for a little while, my dear young sir, and while the headsmen is sharpening his axe, I'll leave you to think about your little friend. Lest you should lack amusement, I'll leave you a light to contemplate your apartment; and for fear you may get lonesome, these two gentlemen will stand outside your door, with their swords drawn, till I come back. Good-by, my dear young sir—good-bye!”

The dungeon-door swung to with a tremendous bang Sir Norman was barred in his prison to await his doom and the dwarf was skipping along the passage with sprightliness, laughing as he went.