Does it not seem sacrilege to throw any one so like an angel into
that horrible plague-pit?"
"I never saw an angel," said Ormiston, as he and his friend
started to go after the dead-cart. "And I dare say there have
been scores as beautiful as that poor girl thrown into the
plague-pit before now. I wonder why the house has been deserted,
and if she was really a bride. The bridegroom could not have
loved her much, I fancy, or not even the pestilence could have
scared him away."
"But, Ormiston, what an extraordinary thing it is that it should
be precisely the same face that the fortune-teller showed me.
There she was alive, and here she is dead; so I've lost all faith
in La Masque for ever."
Ormiston looked doubtful.
"Are you quite sure it is the same, Kingsley?"
"Quite sure?" said Sir Norman, indignantly. "Of course I am! Do
you think I could be mistaken is such a case? I tell you I would
know that face at Kamschatka or, the North Pole; for I don't
believe there ever was such another created."
"So be it, then! Your object, of course, in following that cart
is, to take a last look at her?"
"Precisely so.
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