“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.” “Count who?” asked Rochester. “Or has he, like his ladylove, no other name?” “Oh, no! The name of the gentleman who was so nearly blessed for life, and missed it, is Count L'Estrange!” The earl had been lying listlessly back, only half intent upon his answer, as he watched the fire; but now he sprang sharply up, and stared Ormiston full in the face. “Count what did you say?” was his eager question, while his eyes, more eager than his voice, strove to read the reply before it was repeated. “Count L'Estrange. You know him, my lord?” said Ormiston, quietly. “Ah!” said the earl. And then such a strange meaning smile went wandering about his face. “I have not said that! So his name is Count L'Estrange? Well, I don't wonder now at the girl's beauty.” The earl sank back to his former nonchalant position and fell for a moment or two into deep musing; and then, as if the whole thing struck him in a new and ludicrous light, he broke out into an immoderate fit of laughter. Ormiston looked at him curiously. “It is my turn to ask questions, now, my lord. Who is Count L'Estrange?” “I know of no such person, Ormiston. I was thinking of something else! Was it Leoline who told you that was her lover's name?” “No; I heard it by mere accident from another person. I am sure, if Leoline is not a personage in disguise, he is.” “And why do you think so?”