"Yes, mingled with entreaties to take off her mask that would
have moved a heart of atone. It moved what was better - the
heart of La Masque; and, Kingsley, she has consented to do it;
and she says that if, after seeing her face, I still love her,
she will be my wife."
"Is it possible? My dear Ormiston, I congratulate you with all
my heart!"
"Thank you! After that she left me, and I walked away in such a
frenzy of delight that I couldn't have told whether I was
treading this earth or the shining shares of the seventh heaven,
when suddenly there flew past me a figure all in white - the
figure of a bride, Kingsley, pursued by an excited mob. We were
both near the river, and the first thing I knew, she was plump
into it, with the crowd behind, yelling to stop her, that she was
ill of the plague."
"Great Heaven! and was she drowned?"
"No, though it was not her fault. The Earl of Rochester and his
page - you remember that page, I fancy - were out in their barge,
and the earl picked her up. Then I got a boat, set out after
her, claimed her - for I recognized her, of course - brought her
ashore, and deposited her safe and sound in her own house.
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