“Who is that?” asked the count, curiously. “Why is she perched up there, and why does she bear such an extraordinary resemblance to Leoline? Do you know anything about her, Kingsley?” “I know she is the wife of that unlovely little man, whose howls in yonder passage you can hear, if you listen, and that she was the queen of this midnight court, and is wounded, if not dying, now!” “I never saw such fierce eyes before in a female head! One would think she fairly exulted in this wholesale slaughter of her subjects.” “So she does; and she hates both her husband and her subjects, with an intensity you cannot conceive.” “How very like royalty!” observed Hubert, in parenthesis. “If she were a real queen, she could not act more naturally.” Sir Norman smiled, and the count glanced at the audacious page, suspiciously; but Hubert's face was touching to witness, in its innocent unconsciousness. Miranda, looking up at the same time, caught the young knight's eye, and made a motion for him to approach. She held out both her hands to him as he came near, with the same look of dreadful delight. “Sir Norman Kingsley, I am dying, and my last words are in thanksgiving to you for having thus avenged me!” “Let me hope you have many days to live yet, fair lady,” said Sir Norman, with the same feeling of repulsion he had experienced in the dungeon. “I am sorry you have been obliged to witness this terrible scene.” “Sorry!” she cried, fiercely. “Why, since the first hour I remember at all, I remember nothing that has given me such joy as what has passed now; my only regret is that I did not see them all die before my eyes! Sorry! I tell you I would not have missed it for ten thousand worlds!” “Madame, you must not talk like this!” said Sir Norman, almost sternly. “Heaven forbid there should exist a woman who could rejoice in bloodshed and death. You do not, I know. You wrong yourself and your own nature in saying so. Be calm, now; do not excite yourself. You shall come with us, and be properly cared for; and I feel certain you have a long and happy life before you yet.” “Who are those men?” she said, not heeding him, “and who--ah, great Heaven! What is that?” In looking round, she had met Hubert face to face. She knew that that face was her own; and, with a horror stamped on every feature that no words can depict, she fell back, with a terrible scream and was dead! Sir Norman was so shocked by the suddenness of the last catastrophe, that, for some time, he could not realize that she had actually expired, until he bent over her, and placed his ear to her lips. No breath was there; no pulse stirred in that fierce heart--the Midnight Queen was indeed dead! “Oh, this is fearful!” exclaimed Sir Norman, pale and horrified. “The sight of Hubert, and his wonderful resemblance to her, has completed what her wound and this excitement began. Her last is breathed on earth!”