"I beg your pardon, Sir Norman," he exclaimed, as that gentleman
turned his distracted face; "but, it seems to me, you are running
away. Here is your horse; and allow me to say, unless we hurry
we will scarcely reach the count by sunrise."
Sir Norman leaned against his horse, and shaded his eyes with his
hand, shuddering like one in an ague.
"Why did that woman leap into the plague-pit?" inquired George,
looking at him curiously. "Was it not the sorceress, La Masque?"
"Yes, yes. Do not ask me any questions now," replied Sir Norman,
in a smothered voice, and with an impatient wave of his hand.
"Whatever you please, sir," said George, with the flippancy of
his class; "but still I must repeat, if you do not mount
instantly, we will be late; and my master, the count, is not one
who brooks delay."
The young knight vaulted into the saddle without a word, and
started off at a break-neck pace into the city. George, almost
unable to keep up with him, followed instead of leading, rather
skeptical in his own mind whether he were not riding after a
moon-struck lunatic. Once or twice he shouted out a sharp-toned
inquiry as to whether he knew where he was going, and that they
were taking the wrong way altogether; to all of which Sir Norman
deigned not the slightest reply, but rode more and more
recklessly on.
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