THE PAGE, THE FIRES, AND THE FALL.
The night was intensely dark when Sir Norman got into it once more; and to any one else would have been intensely dismal, but to Sir Norman all was bright as the fair hills of Beulah.When all is bright within, we see no darkness without; and just at that moment our young knight had got into one of those green and golden glimpses of sunshine that here and there checker life's rather dark pathway, and with Leoline beside him would have thought the dreary whores of the Dead Sea itself a very paradise.
It was now near midnight, and there was an unusual concourse of people in the sheets, waiting for St.Paul's to give the signal to light the fires.He looked around for Ormiston; but Ormiston was nowhere to be seen - horse and rider had disappeared.His own horse stood tethered where he had left him.Anxious as he was to ride back to the ruin, and see the play played out, he could not resist the temptation of lingering a brief period in the city, to behold the grand spectacle of the myriad fires.
Many persons were hurrying toward St.Paul's to witness it from the dome; and consigning his horse to the care of the sentinel on guard at the house opposite, he joined them, and was soon striding along, at a tremendous pace, toward the great cathedral.
Ere he reached it, its long-tongued clock tolled twelve, and all the other churches, one after another, took up the sound, and the witching hour of midnight rang and rerang from end to end of London town.As if by magic, a thousand forked tongues of fire shot up at once into the blind, black night, turning almost in an instant the darkened face of the heavens to an inflamed, glowing red.Great fires were blazing around the cathedral when they reached it, but no one stopped to notice them, but only hurried on the faster to gain their point of observation.
Sir Norman just glanced at the magnificent pile - for the old St.
Paul's was even more magnificent than the new, - and then followed after the rest, through many a gallery, tower, and spiral staircase till the dome was reached.And there a grand and mighty spectacle was before him - the whole of London swaying and heaving in one great sea of fire.From one end to the other, the city seemed wrapped in sheets of flame, and every street, and alley, and lane within it shone in a lurid radiance far brighter than noonday.All along the river fires were gleaming, too; and the whole sky had turned from black to blood-red crimson.The streets were alive and swarming - it could scarcely be believed that the plague-infested city contained half so many people, and all were unusually hopeful and animated; for it was popularly believed that these fires would effectually check the pestilence.
But the angry fiat of a Mighty Judge had gone forth, and the tremendous arm of the destroying angel was not to be stopped by the puny hand of man.
It has been said the weather for weeks was unusually brilliant, days of cloudless sunshine, nights of cloudless moonlight, and the air was warm and sultry enough for the month of August in the tropics.But now, while they looked, a vivid flash of lightning, from what quarter of the heavens no man knew, shot athwart the sky, followed by another and another, quick, sharp, and blinding.
Then one great drop of rain fell like molten lead on the pavement, then a second and a third quicker, faster, and thicker, until down it crashed in a perfect deluge.It did not wait to rain; it fell in floods - in great, slanting sheets of water, an if the very floodgates of heaven had opened for a second deluge.
No one ever remembered to have seen such torrents fall, and the populace fled before it in wildest dismay.In five minutes, every fire, from one extremity of London to the other, was quenched in the very blackness of darkness, and on that night the deepest gloom and terror reigned throughout the city.It was clear the hand of an avenging Deity was in this, and He who had rained down fire on Sodom and Gomorrah had not lost His might.
In fifteen minutes the terrific flood was over; the dismal clouds cleared away, a pale, fair, silver moon shone serenely out, and looked down on the black, charred heaps of ashes strewn through the streets of London.One by one, the stars that all night had been obscured, glanced and sparkled over the sky, and lit up with their soft, pale light the doomed and stricken town.Everybody had quitted the dome in terror and consternation; and now Sir Norman, who had been lost in awe, suddenly bethought him of his ride to the ruin, and hastened to follow their example.Walking rapidly, not to say recklessly, along, he abruptly knocked against some one sauntering leisurely before him, and nearly pitched headlong on the pavement.Recovering his centre of gravity by a violent effort, he turned to see the cause of the collision, and found himself accosted by a musical and foreign-accented voice.
"Pardon," paid the sweet, and rather feminine tones; "it was quite an accident, I assure you, monsieur.I had no idea I was in anybody's way."Sir Norman looked at the voice, or rather in the direction whence it came, and found it proceeded from a lad in gay livery, whose clear, colorless face, dark eyes, end exquisite features were by no means unknown.The boy seemed to recognize him at the same moment, and slightly touched his gay cap.
"Ah! it is Sir Norman Kingsley! Just the very person, but one, in the world that I wanted most to see.""Indeed! And, pray, whom have I the honor of addressing?"inquired Sir Norman, deeply edified by the cool familiarity of the accoster.
"They call me Hubert - for want of a better name, I suppose,"said the lad, easily."And may I ask, Sir Norman, if you are shod with seven-leagued boots, or if your errand is one of life and death, that you stride along at such a terrific rate?""And what is that to you?" asked Sir Norman, indignant at his free-and-easy impudence.
