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"I don't know whether we are or not," said Sir Norman significantly; "only, God help him if we're not! Where are you taking us to, you black-looking bandit?""I give you my word of honor, gentlemen," said an imploring voice in the darkness, "that I'm leading you, by the nearest way, to the Midnight Court.All I ask ,of you in return is, that you will let me enter before you; for if they find that I lead you in, my life will not be worth a moment's purchase.""As if it ever was worth it," said Sir Norman, contemptuously.

"On with you, and be thankful I don't save your companions the trouble, by making an end of you where you stand.""Rush along, old fellow," suggested Hubert, giving him another poke with his dagger, that drew forth a second doleful howl.

Notwithstanding the darkness, Sir Norman discovered that they were being led in a direction exactly opposite that by which he had previously effected an entrance.They were in the vault, he knew, by the darkness, though they had descended no stair-case, and he was just wondering if their guide was not meditating some treachery by such a circuitous route, when suddenly a tumult of voices, and uproar, and confusion, met his ear.At the same instant, their guide opened a door, revealing a dark passage, illuminated by a few rays of light, and which Sir Norman instantly recognized as that leading to the Black Chamber.Here again the duke paused, and turned round to them with a wildly-imploring face.

"Gentlemen, I do conjure you to let me enter before you do! Itell you they will murder me the very instant they discover Ihave led you here!"

"That would be a great pity!" said the count; "and the gallows will be cheated of one of its brightest ornaments! That is your den of thieves, I suppose, from which all this uproar comes?""It is.And as I have guided you safely to it, surely I deserve this trifling boon.""Trifling, do you call it," interposed Sir Norman, "to let you make your escape, as you most assuredly will do the moment you are out of our sight! No, no; we are too old birds to be caught with such chaff; and though the informer always gets off scot-free, your services deserve no such boon; for we could have found our way without your help! On with you, Sir Robber; and if your companions do kill you, console yourself with the thought that they have only anticipated the executioner by a few days!"With a perfectly heart-rending groan, the unfortunate duke walked on; but when they reached the archway directly before the room, he came to an obstinate halt, and positively refused to go a step farther.It was death, anyway, and he resisted with the courage of desperation, feeling he might as well die there as go in and be assassinated by his confederates, and not even the persuasive influence of Hubert's dagger could prevail on him to budge an inch farther.

"Stay, then!" said the count, with perfect indifference."And, soldiers, see that he does not escape! Now, Kingsley, let us just have a glimpse of what is going on within."Though the party had made considerable noise in advancing, and had spoken quite loudly in their little animated discussion with the duke, so great was the turmoil and confusion within, that it was not heeded, or even heard.With very different feelings from those with which he had stood there last, Sir Norman stepped forward and stood beside the count, looking at the scene within.

The crimson court was in a state of "most admired disorder," and the confusion of tongues was equal to Babel.No longer were they languidly promenading, or lolling in the cushioned chairs; but all seemed running to and fro in the wildest excitement, which the grandest duke among them seemed to share equally with the terrified white sylphs.Everybody appeared to be talking together, and paying no attention whatever to the sentiments of their neighbors.One universal centre of union alone seemed to exist, and that was the green, judicial table near the throne, upon which, while all tongues ran, all eyes turned.For some minutes, neither of the beholders could make out why, owing to the crowd (principally of the ladies) pressing around it; but Sir Norman guessed, and thrilled through with a vague sensation of terror, lest it should prove to be the dead body of Miranda.

Skipping in and out among the females he saw the dwarf, performing a sort of war dance of rage and frenzy; twining both hands in his wig, as if he would have torn it out by the roots, and anon tearing at somebody else's wig, so that everybody backed off when he came near them.

"Who is that little fiend?" inquired the count; "and what have they got there at the and of the room, pray?""That little fiend is the ringleader here, and is entitled Prince Caliban.Regarding your other question," said Sir Norman, with a faint thrill, "there was a table there when I saw it last, but Iam afraid there is something worse now."