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<h2> CHAPTER, XXI. WHAT WAS BEHIND THE MASK. </h2>
<p>The cowering form rose up; but, seeing who it was, sank down again, with
its face groveling in the dust, and with another prolonged, moaning cry.</p>
<p>"Madame Masque!" he said, wonderingly; "what is this?"</p>
<p>He bent to raise her; but, with a sort of scream she held out her arms to
keep him back.</p>
<p>"No, no, no! Touch me not! Hate me—kill me! I have murdered your
friend!"</p>
<p>Sir Norman recoiled as if from a deadly serpent.</p>
<p>"Murdered him! Madame, in Heaven's name, what have you said?"</p>
<p>"Oh, I have not stabbed him, or poisoned him, or shot him; but I am his
murderer, nevertheless!" she wailed, writhing in a sort of gnawing inward
torture.</p>
<p>"Madame, I do not understand you at all! Surely you are raving when you
talk like this."</p>
<p>Still moaning on the edge of the plague-pit, she half rose up, with both
hands clasped tightly over her heart, as if she would have held back from
all human ken the anguish that was destroying her,</p>
<p>"NO—no! I am not mad—pray Heaven I were! Oh, that they had
strangled me in the first hour of my birth, as they would a viper, rather
than I should have lived through all this life of misery and guilt, to end
it by this last, worst crime of all!"</p>
<p>Sir Norman stood and looked at her still with a dazed expression. He knew
well enough whose murderer she called herself; but why she did so, or how
she could possibly bring about his death, was a mystery altogether too
deep for him to solve.</p>
<p>"Madame, compose yourself, I beseech you, and tell me what you mean. It is
to my friend, Ormiston, you allude—is it not?"</p>
<p>"Yes—yes! surely you need not ask."</p>
<p>"I know that he is dead, and buried in this horrible place; but why you
should accuse yourself of murdering him, I confess I do not know."</p>
<p>"Then you shall!" she cried, passionately. "And you will wonder at it no
longer! You are the last one to whom the revelation can ever be made on
earth; and, now that my hours are numbered, it matters little whether it
is told or not! Was it not you who first found him dead?"</p>
<p>"It was I—yes. And how he came to his end, I have been puzzling
myself in vain to discover ever since."</p>
<p>She rose up, drew herself to her full majestic height, and looked at him
with a terrible glance,</p>
<p>"Shall I tell you?"</p>
<p>"You have had no hand in it," he answered, with a cold chill at the tone
and look, "for he loved you!"</p>
<p>"I have had a hand in it—I alone have been the cause of it. But for
me he would be living still!"</p>
<p>"Madame," exclaimed Sir Norman, in horror.</p>
<p>"You need not look as if you thought me mad, for I tell you it is Heaven's
truth! You say right—he loved me; but for that love he would be
living now!"</p>
<p>"You speak in riddles which I cannot read. How could that love have caused
his death, since his dearest wishes were to be granted to-night?"</p>
<p>"He told you that, did he?"</p>
<p>"He did. He told me you were to remove your mask; and if, on seeing you,
he still loved you, you were to be his wife."</p>
<p>"Then woe to him for ever having extorted such a promise from me! Oh, I
warned him again, and again, and again. I told him how it would be—I
begged him to desist; but no, he was blind, he was mad; he would rush on
his own doom! I fulfilled my promise, and behold the result!"</p>
<p>She pointed with a frantic gesture to the plague-pit, and wrung her
beautiful hands with the same moaning of anguish.</p>
<p>"Do I hear aright?" said Sir Norman, looking at her, and really doubting
if his ears had not deceived him. "Do you mean to say that, in keeping
your word and showing him your face, you have caused his death?"</p>
<p>"I do. I had warned him of it before. I told him there were sights too
horrible to look on and live, but nothing would convince him! Oh, why was
the curse of life ever bestowed upon such a hideous thing as I!"</p>
<p>Sir Norman gazed at her in a state of hopeless bewilderment. He had
thought, from the moment he saw her first, that there was something wrong
with her brain, to make her act in such a mysterious, eccentric sort of
way; but he had never positively thought her so far gone as this. In his
own mind, he set her down, now, as being mad as a March hare, and
accordingly answered in that soothing tone people use to imbeciles,</p>
<p>"My dear Madame Masque, pray do not excite yourself, or say such dreadful
things. I am sure you would not willfully cause the death of any one, much
less that of one who loved you as he did."</p>
<p>La Masque broke into a wild laugh, almost worse to hear than her former
despairing moans.</p>
<p>"The man thinks me mad! He will not believe, unless he sees and knows for
himself! Perhaps you, too, Sir Norman Kingsley," she cried, changing into
sudden fierceness, "would like to see the face behind this mask?—would
like to see what has slain your friend, and share his fate?"</p>
<p>"Certainly," said Sir Norman. "I should like to see it; and I think I may
safely promise not to die from the effects. But surely, madame, you
deceive yourself; no face, however ugly—even supposing you to
possess such a one—could produce such dismay as to cause death."</p>
<p>"You shall see."</p>
<p>She was looking down into the plague-pit, standing so close to its
cracking edge, that Sir Norman's blood ran cold, in the momentary
expectation to see her slip and fall headlong in. Her voice was less
fierce and less wild, but her hands were still clasped tightly over her
heart, as if to ease the unutterable pain there. Suddenly, she looked up,
and said, in an altered tone:</p>
<p>"You have lost Leoline?"</p>
<p>"And found her again. She is in the power of one Count L'Estrange."</p>
<p>"And if in his power, pray, how have you found her?"</p>
<p>"Because we are both to meet in her presence within this very hour, and
she is to decide between us."</p>
<p>"Has Count L'Estrange promised you this?"</p>
<p>"He has."</p>
<p>"And you have no doubt what her decision will be?"</p>
<p>"Not the slightest."</p>
<p>"How came you to know she was carried off by this count?"</p>
<p>"He confessed it himself."</p>
<p>"Voluntarily?"</p>
<p>"No; I taxed him with it, and he owned to the deed; but he voluntarily
promised to take me to her and abide by her decision."</p>
<p>"Extraordinary!" said La Masque, as if to herself. "Whimsical as he is, I
scarcely expected he would give her up so easily as this."</p>
<p>"Then you know him, madame?" said Sir Norman, pointedly.</p>
<p>"There are few things I do not know, and rare are the disguises I cannot
penetrate. So you have discovered it, too?"</p>
<p>"No, madame, my eyes were not sharp enough, nor had I sufficient
cleverness, even, for that. It was Hubert, the Earl of Rochester's page,
who told me who he was."</p>
<p>"Ah, the page!" said La Masque, quickly. "You have then been speaking to
him? What do you think of his resemblance to Leoline?"</p>
<p>"I think it is the most astonishing resemblance I ever saw. But he is not
the only one who bears Leoline's face."</p>
<p>"And the other is?"</p>
<p>"The other is she whom you sent me to see in the old ruins. Madame, I wish
you would tell me the secret of this wonderful likeness; for I am certain
you know, and I am equally certain it is not accidental."</p>
<p>"You are right. Leoline knows already; for, with the presentiment that my
end was near, I visited her when you left, and gave her her whole history,
in writing. The explanation is simple enough. Leoline, Miranda, and
Hubert, are sisters and brother."</p>
<p>Some misty idea that such was the case had been struggling through Sir
Norman's slow mind, unformed and without shape, ever since he had seen the
trio, therefore he was not the least astonished when he heard the fact
announced. Only in one thing he was a little disappointed.</p>
<p>"Then Hubert is really a boy?" he said, half dejectedly.</p>
<p>"Certainly he is. What did you take him to be?"</p>
<p>"Why, I thought—that is, I do not know," said Sir Norman, quite
blushing at being guilty of so much romance, "but that he was a woman in
disguise. You see he is so handsome, and looks so much like Leoline, that
I could not help thinking so."</p>
<p>"He is Leoline's twin brother—that accounts for it. When does she
become your wife?"</p>
<p>"This very morning, God willing!" said Sir Norman, fervently.</p>
<p>"Amen! And may her life and yours be long and happy. What becomes of the
rest?"</p>
<p>"Since Hubert is her brother, he shall come with us, if he will. As for
the other, she, alas! is dead."</p>
<p>"Dead!" cried La Masque. "How? When? She was living, tonight!"</p>
<p>"True! She died of a wound."</p>
<p>"A wound? Surely not given by the dwarfs hand?"</p>
<p>"No, no; it was quite accidental. But since you know so much of the dwarf,
perhaps you also know he is now the king's prisoner?"</p>
<p>"I did not know it; but I surmised as much when I discovered that you and
Count L'Estrange, followed by such a body of men, visited the ruin. Well,
his career has been long and dark enough, and even the plague seemed to
spare him for the executioner. And so the poor mock-queen is dead? Well,
her sister will not long survive her."</p>
<p>"Good Heavens, madame!" cried Sir Norman, aghast. "You do not mean to say
that Leoline is going to die?"</p>
<p>"Oh, no! I hope Leoline has a long and happy life before her. But the
wretched, guilty sister I mean is, myself; for I, too, Sir Norman, am her
sister."</p>
<p>At this new disclosure, Sir Norman stood perfectly petrified; and La
Masque, looking down at the dreadful place at her feet, went rapidly on:</p>
<p>"Alas and alas! that it should be so; but it is the direful truth. We bear
the same name, we had the same father; and yet I have been the curse and
bane of their lives."</p>
<p>"And Leoline knows this?"</p>
<p>"She never knew it until this night, or any one else alive; and no one
should know it now, were not my ghastly life ending. I prayed her to
forgive me for the wrong I have done her; and she may, for she is gentle
and good—but when, when shall I be able to forgive myself?"</p>
<p>The sharp pain in her voice jarred on Sir Norman's ear and heart; and, to
get rid of its dreary echo, he hurriedly asked:</p>
<p>"You say you bear the same name. May I ask what name that is?"</p>
<p>"It is one, Sir Norman Kingsley, before which your own ancient title
pales. We are Montmorencis, and in our veins runs the proudest blood in
France."</p>
<p>"Then Leoline is French and of noble birth?" said Sir Norman, with a
thrill of pleasure. "I loved her for herself alone, and would have wedded
her had she been the child of a beggar; but I rejoice to hear this
nevertheless. Her father, then, bore a title?"</p>
<p>"Her father was the Marquis de Montmorenci, but Leoline's mother and mine
were not the same—had they been, the lives of all four might have
been very different; but it is too late to lament that now. My mother had
no gentle blood in her veins, as Leoline's had, for she was but a
fisherman's daughter, torn from her home, and married by force. Neither
did she love my father notwithstanding his youth, rank, and passionate
love for her, for she was betrothed to another bourgeois, like herself.
For his sake she refused even the title of marchioness, offered her in the
moment of youthful and ardent passion, and clung, with deathless truth, to
her fisher-lover. The blood of the Montmorencis is fierce and hot, and
brooks no opposition" (Sir Norman thought of Miranda, and inwardly owned
that that was a fact); "and the marquis, in his jealous wrath, both hated
and loved her at the same time, and vowed deadly vengeance against her
bourgeois lover. That vow he kept. The young fisherman was found one
morning at his lady-love's door without a head, and the bleeding trunk
told no tales.</p>
<p>"Of course, for a while, she was distracted and so on; but when the first
shock of her grief was over, my father carried her off, and forcibly made
her his wife. Fierce hatred, I told you, was mingled with his fierce love,
and before the honeymoon was over it began to break out. One night, in a
fit of jealous passion, to which he was addicted, he led her into a room
she had never before been permitted to enter; showed her a grinning human
skull, and told her it was her lover's! In his cruel exultation, he
confessed all; how he had caused him to be murdered; his head severed from
the body; and brought here to punish her, some day, for her obstinate
refusal to love him.</p>
<p>"Up to this time she had been quiet and passive, bearing her fate with a
sort of dumb resignation; but now a spirit of vengeance, fiercer and more
terrible than his own, began to kindle within her; and, kneeling down
before the ghastly thing, she breathed a wish—a prayer—to the
avenging Jehovah, so unutterably horrible, that even her husband had to
fly with curdling blood from the room. That dreadful prayer was heard—that
wish fulfilled in me; but long before I looked on the light of day that
frantic woman had repented of the awful deed she had done. Repentance came
too late the sin of the father was visited on the child, and on the
mother, too, for the moment her eyes fell upon me, she became a raving
maniac, and died before the first day of my life had ended.</p>
<p>"Nurse and physician fled at the sight of me; but my father, though
thrilling with horror, bore the shock, and bowed to the retributive
justice of the angry Deity she had invoked. His whole life, his whole
nature, changed from that hour; and, kneeling beside my dead mother, as he
afterward told me, he vowed before high Heaven to cherish and love me,
even as though I had not been the ghastly creature I was. The physician he
bound by a terrible oath to silence; the nurse he forced back, and, in
spite of her disgust and abhorrence, compelled her to nurse and care for
me. The dead was buried out of sight; and we had rooms in a distant part
of the house, which no one ever entered but my father and the nurse.
Though set apart from my birth as something accursed, I had the intellect
and capacity of—yes, far greater intellect and capacity than, most
children; and, as years passed by, my father, true to his vow, became
himself my tutor and companion. He did not love me—that was an utter
impossibility; but time so blunts the edge of all things, that even the
nurse became reconciled to me, and my father could scarcely do less than a
stranger. So I was cared for, and instructed, and educated; and, knowing
not what a monstrosity I was, I loved them both ardently, and lived on
happily enough, in my splendid prison, for my first ten years in this
world.</p>
<p>"Then came a change. My nurse died; and it became clear that I must quit
my solitary life, and see the sort of world I lived in. So my father,
seeing all this, sat down in the twilight one night beside me, and told me
the story of my own hideousness. I was but a child then, and it is many
and many years ago; but this gray summer morning, I feel what I felt then,
as vividly as I did at the time. I had not learned the great lesson of
life then—endurance, I have scarcely learned it yet, or I should
bear life's burden longer; but that first night's despair has darkened my
whole after-life. For weeks I would not listen to my father's proposal, to
hide what would send all the world from me in loathing behind a mask; but
I came to my senses at last, and from that day to the present—more
days than either you or I would care to count—it has not been one
hour altogether off my face."</p>
<p>"I was the wonder and talk of Paris, when I did appear; and most of the
surmises were wild and wide of the mark—some even going so far as to
say it was all owing to my wonderful unheard-of beauty that I was thus
mysteriously concealed from view. I had a soft voice, and a tolerable
shape; and upon this, I presume, they founded the affirmation. But my
father and I kept our own council, and let them say what they listed. I
had never been named, as other children are; but they called me La Masque
now. I had masters and professors without end, and studied astronomy and
astrology, and the mystic lore of the old Egyptians, and became noted as a
prodigy and a wonder, and a miracle of learning, far and near.</p>
<p>"The arts used to discover the mystery and make me unmask were innumerable
and almost incredible; but I baffled them all, and began, after a time,
rather to enjoy the sensation I created than otherwise.</p>
<p>"There was one, in particular, possessed of even more devouring curiosity
than the rest, a certain young countess of miraculous beauty, whom I need
not describe, since you have her very image in Leoline. The Marquis de
Montmorenci, of a somewhat inflammable nature, loved her almost as much as
he had done my mother, and she accepted him, and they were married. She
may have loved him (I see no reason why she should not), but still to this
day I think it was more to discover the secret of La Masque than from any
other cause. I loved my beautiful new mother too well to let her find it
out; although from the day she entered our house as a bride, until that on
which she lay on her deathbed, her whole aim, day and night, was its
discovery. There seemed to be a fatality about my father's wives; for the
beautiful Honorine lived scarcely longer than her predecessor, and she
died, leaving three children—all born at one time—you know
them well, and one of them you love. To my care she intrusted them on her
deathbed, and she could have scarcely intrusted them to worse; for, though
I liked her, I most decidedly disliked them. They were lovely children—their
lovely mother's image; and they were named Hubert, Leoline, and Honorine,
or, as you knew her, Miranda. Even my father did not seem to care for them
much, not even as much as he cared for me; and when he lay on his
deathbed, one year later, I was left, young as I was, their sole guardian,
and trustee of all his wealth. That wealth was not fairly divided—one-half
being left to me and the other half to be shared equally between them;
but, in my wicked ambition, I was not satisfied even with that. Some of my
father's fierce and cruel nature I inherited; and I resolved to be clear
of these three stumbling-blocks, and recompense myself for my other
misfortunes by every indulgence boundless riches could bestow. So,
secretly, and in the night, I left my home, with an old and trusty
servant, known to you as Prudence, and my unfortunate, little brother and
sisters. Strange to say, Prudence was attached to one of them, and to
neither of the rest—that one was Leoline, whom she resolved to keep
and care for, and neither she nor I minded what became of the other two."</p>
<p>"From Paris we went to Dijon, where we dropped Hubert into the turn at the
convent door, with his name attached, and left him where he would be well
taken care of, and no questions asked. With the other two we started for
Calais, en route for England; and there Prudence got rid of Honorine in a
singular manner. A packet was about starting for the island of our
destination, and she saw a strange-looking little man carrying his luggage
from the wharf into a boat. She had the infant in her arms, having carried
it out for the identical purpose of getting rid of it; and, without more
ado, she laid it down, unseen, among boxes and bundles, and, like Hagar,
stood afar off to see what became of it. That ugly little man was the
dwarf; and his amazement on finding it among his goods and chattels you
may imagine; but he kept it, notwithstanding, though why, is best known to
himself. A few weeks after that we, too, came over, and Prudence took up
her residence in a quiet village a long way from London. Thus you see, Sir
Norman, how it comes about that we are so related, and the wrong I have
done them all."</p>
<p>"You have, indeed!" said Sir Norman, gravely, having listened, much
shocked and displeased, at this open confession; "and to one of them it is
beyond our power to atone. Do you know the life of misery to which she has
been assigned?"</p>
<p>"I know it all, and have repented for it in my own heart, in dust and
ashes! Even I—unlike all other earthly creatures as I am—have
a conscience, and it has given me no rest night or day since. From that
hour I have never lost sight of them; every sorrow they have undergone has
been known to me, and added to my own; and yet I could not, or would not,
undo what I had done. Leoline knows all now; and she will tell Hubert,
since destiny has brought them together; and whether they will forgive me
I know not. But yet they might; for they have long and happy lives before
them, and we can forgive everything to the dead."</p>
<p>"But you are not dead," said Sir Norman; "and there is repentance and
pardon for all. Much as you have wronged them, they will forgive you; and
Heaven is not less merciful than they!"</p>
<p>"They may; for I have striven to atone. In my house there are proofs and
papers that will put them in possession of all, and more than all, they
have lost. But life is a burden of torture I will bear no longer. The
death of him who died for me this night is the crowning tragedy of my
miserable life; and if my hour were not at hand, I should not have told
you this."</p>
<p>"But you have not told me the fearful cause of so much guilt and
suffering. What is behind that mask?"</p>
<p>"Would you, too, see?" she asked, in a terrible voice, "and die?"</p>
<p>"I have told you it is not in my nature to die easily, and it is something
far stronger than mere curiosity makes me ask."</p>
<p>"Be it so! The sky is growing red with day-dawn, and I shall never see the
sun rise more, for I am already plague-struck!"</p>
<p>That sweetest of all voices ceased. The white hands removed the mask, and
the floating coils of hair, and revealed, to Sir Norman's horror-struck
gaze, the grisly face and head, and the hollow eye-sockets, the grinning
mouth, and fleshless cheeks of a skeleton!</p>
<p>He saw it but for one fearful instant—the next, she had thrown up
both arms, and leaped headlong into the loathly plague-pit. He saw her for
a second or two, heaving and writhing in the putrid heap; and then the
strong man reeled and fell with his face on the ground, not feigning, but
sick unto death. Of all the dreadful things he had witnessed that night,
there was nothing so dreadful as this; of all the horror he had felt
before, there was none to equal what he felt now. In his momentary
delirium, it seemed to him she was reaching her arms of bone up to drag
him in, and that the skeleton-face was grinning at him on the edge of the
awful pit. And, covering his eyes with his hands, he sprang up, and fled
away.</p>
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