“Dead of the plague! I'll tell your lordship how it was,” said Ormiston, who forthwith commend and related the story of their finding Leoline; of the resuscitation at the plague-pit; of the flight from Sir Norman's house, and of the delirious plunge into the river, and miraculous cure.
“A marvelous story,” commented the earl, much interested. “And Leoline seems to have as many lives as a cat! Who can she be—a princess in disguise—eh, Ormiston?”
“She looks fit to be a princess, or anything else; but your lordship knows as much about her, now, as I do.”
“You say she was dressed as a bride—how came that?”
“Simply enough. She was to be married to-night, had she not taken the plague instead.”
“Married? Why, I thought you told me a few minutes ago she was in love with Kingsley. It seems to me, Mr. Ormiston, your remarks are a trifle inconsistent,” said the earl, in a tone of astonished displeasure.
“Nevertheless, they are all perfectly true. Mistress Leoline was to be married, as I told you; but she was to marry to please her friends, and not herself. She had been in the habit of watching Kingsley go past her window; and the way she blushed, and went through the other little motions, convinces me that his course of true love will ran as smooth as this glassy river runs at present.”
“Kingsley is a lucky fellow. Will the discarded suitor have no voice in the matter; or is he such a simpleton as to give her up at a word?”
Ormiston laughed.
“Ah! to be sure; what will the count say? And, judging from some things I've heard, I should say he is violently in love with her.”