I will go in search of them if you like." "I am rather at a loss what to do with them," said the count, half-laughing.

"It would be a pity to bring such a cavalcade of pretty women into the city to die of the plague.

Can you suggest nothing, Sir Norman ?" "Nothing, but to leave then here to take care of themselves, or let them go free." "They would be a great addition to the court at Whitehall," suggested Hubert, in his prettiest tone, "and a thousand times handsomer than half the damsels therein.

There, for instance, is one a dozen timer more beautiful than Mistress Stuart herself!" Leaning, in his nonchalant way, on the hilt of his sword, he pointed to Miranda, whose fiercely-joyful eyes were fixed with a glance that made the three of them shudder, on the bloody floor and the heap of slain.
"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.