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+
+*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 75340 ***
+
+
+
+
+
+  _GRATIS WITH_]                                   [_SOMETHING TO READ._
+
+  [Illustration: SOMETHING TO READ NOVELETTE]
+
+  CONTAINS A COMPLETE STORY AND PRESENTED GRATIS EVERY WEEK
+  WITH THE JOURNAL “SOMETHING TO READ.”
+
+  No. 675.]           EDITED BY EDWIN J. BRETT.            [Vol. XXVII.
+
+  [Illustration: “IT IS A SORRY TALE FOR YOUNG EARS, MY CHILD,” SAID THE
+   OLD LAWYER, TAKING HER HANDS IN HIS.]
+
+
+
+
+DESTINY.
+
+BY G. P. S.
+
+
+
+
+CONTENTS
+
+
+  CHAPTER I.
+  CHAPTER II.
+  CHAPTER III.
+  CHAPTER IV.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER I.
+
+
+ “My dear Miss Standen,--Now that the arch-enemy of mankind (in reality
+ he is often a friend) has deprived you of your--shall I say foster
+ mother? it is time for me to say that I hope you will always regard
+ me as a friend, who has known you from your earliest childhood. There
+ are some events in your family history which a promise to the dead
+ kept me from relating during Mrs. O’Hara’s lifetime. I will acquaint
+ you with them fully in a few days. As a preliminary, Mrs. Gascoigne
+ and myself will be delighted to have you with us while you decide
+ about the future. The sooner the better. Shall we say to-day at your
+ own time? A house of mourning is not a suitable place for a young
+ girl who--although she may have experienced much kindness--is no way
+ connected with the deceased. Forgive an old lawyer’s bluntness; you
+ are too sensible, I am sure, to take offence at my home-truths (which
+ are always disagreeable). Awaiting you and your luggage,
+
+  “Believe me, my dear Miss Standen,
+
+                                          “Your sincere friend,
+                                          “HENRY MORTON GASCOIGNE.”
+
+It was impossible not to believe in the sincerity of the letter, and
+Muriel Standen read it a second time with a keen sense of gratitude for
+the writer.
+
+She had believed herself entirely alone in the world, penniless, and
+without a home.
+
+For, after the death of Mrs. O’Hara, she could no longer stay at the
+farm.
+
+Tom was to be married in a few weeks at his mother’s last request, and
+although she had mentioned Muriel’s name, apparently with the intention
+of adding something regarding her, death had intervened.
+
+Mrs. O’Hara died before the girl could ascertain any particulars of her
+early life.
+
+She answered Mr. Gascoigne’s letter, thankfully accepting his kind
+offer, and sent it by one of the farm-hands.
+
+Then she packed her two small trunks and said good-bye to sturdy Tom
+O’Hara, who said the farm would miss her sadly.
+
+“But it is not the place for a lady like you, Miss Standen. My mother
+was next door to being one, as you know, and even she detested farm
+life. It was better for you when she was here. Now you will go among
+your own people, I hope. I wish I could tell you who they are, but my
+mother kept her knowledge--if she had any--to herself.”
+
+“Thank you,” she said, sadly. “I do not know where I am going when I
+leave Mr. and Mrs. Gascoigne. I expect that I am quite alone in the
+world, otherwise my people could hardly have left me without any sign
+all these years.”
+
+“If it comes to that, Miss Standen,” and the big fellow strode hastily
+across the room to her, “the farm’s a home to you whenever you like to
+make use of it. Maggie’s a good girl, and she would feel honoured by
+your staying here.”
+
+“I thank you Tom most warmly,” giving him both her hands. “You are
+a kind hearted man, and I shall never forget your generosity. But I
+intend to go to London to make my living there.
+
+“I have made some enquiries, and my voice ought to do something for me.
+Mr. Gascoigne will always have my address, and he will give me news
+of you now and then. Good-bye, I must not keep your horse waiting any
+longer.”
+
+“I am going to drive you myself, Miss Standen, if you will allow me. It
+will be the last time.”
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+“Well, well, my dear, there is no immediate hurry. You have scarcely
+been with us two days. As a matter of fact, Mrs. Gascoigne and myself
+would be only too glad if you could make up your mind to remain with us
+altogether, but I suppose you are tired of the country.”
+
+“You beggar me of gratitude,” she said, flushing. “I have not the
+slightest claim upon you and you treat me like a daughter--almost.”
+
+“I wish you were now that my own are so far away. Well, if you are
+determined to hear I must tell you, sit down in that arm-chair
+comfortably, and remember that a lawyer does not like to be
+interrupted. At the same time my dear, prepare yourself to hear some
+sad news.
+
+“Twenty years ago, your mother came to Abbott Mansfield with you, a
+little child just able to walk without falling.
+
+“She rented the cottage, known as the Laurels, which was then let
+furnished, and lived there for four years with a nurse for you and one
+other maid servant.
+
+“She dressed always in widow’s weeds, made no acquaintances whatever,
+and refused to see any people who from kindness or curiosity called
+upon her.
+
+“One day I received a note asking me to go to the Laurels.
+
+“I went, and found your mother dying.
+
+“The doctor said it was general weakness, want of vitality and nervous
+power, and had advised her to go to a warm climate some weeks before.
+
+“She told me it was a broken heart, my dear.”
+
+Muriel had grown white and her eyes were dark with suppressed tears.
+
+“You will find me brutally matter-of-fact. Do not think me devoid of
+sympathy. Cry as much as you like. Shall I go on?” after a few moments
+pause.
+
+“Yes, please.”
+
+“Mrs. Standen’s story was a sad one, but unfortunately, no new thing.
+She had married when very young, and, being a lovely attractive woman,
+as I saw by the miniature which is in your possession, had no lack of
+attention from her husband’s friends.
+
+“He was a major in the --th Hussars, a good officer and beloved by all
+who knew him. Unfortunately he trusted too much, and he trusted Captain
+Ainslie absolutely.
+
+“The two were the closest of friends, and even the marriage of Major
+Winstanley had not weakened their friendship.
+
+“Your father was a very striking-looking man, Miss Winstanley, I
+will show you a portrait of him when I have finished, a thoroughbred
+gentleman, nobility and integrity stamped on every feature; but the
+captain was handsome in the style admired by ladies--fair, with blue
+eyes, a long moustache, and, no doubt, golden hair.
+
+“Your father was passionately attached to your mother, and up to the
+time of your birth they were very happy.
+
+“He had a strong, stern nature, however, and in addition to his duties,
+which, of course, absorbed a good part of each day, he was fond of
+literary pursuits.
+
+“A man does not care the less for his wife, Miss Winstanley, because he
+does not keep up his honeymoon all his married life. Your mother did
+not say that she was neglected; but Captain Ainslie got into the habit
+of going to see her every day, when, nine times out of ten, she was
+alone.
+
+“He was the type of man who is found in ladies’ drawing-rooms at
+tea-times. Sometimes he took her out for drives or rides, the major
+trusted him entirely.
+
+“When you were about a year old, Major Winstanley was summoned to the
+death-bed of his father; as the journey to the North was long and
+fatiguing, he did not take his wife, for she was not strong and from
+the time of your birth had always been delicate. Four days later, when
+Major Winstanley returned--”
+
+The old lawyer stopped, the look on the girl’s face was so piteous to
+see.
+
+Her large grey eyes were wide and dark, the sweet mouth was quivering
+with feeling.
+
+He went up to her and took her hands in his kindly.
+
+“It is a sorry tale for young ears, my child, but I promised a dying
+woman to tell you, and to hide nothing. Cheer up a little, it ended
+better than could have been hoped. Captain Ainslie had gone off with
+his friend’s wife. But Major Winstanley was a modern Don Quixote;
+he traced them, followed them, and found his wife in a Paris hotel,
+sobbing with grief for her sin, the consciousness of which could not be
+effaced in spite of her companion’s attempts at consolation.
+
+“Her husband went up to her and said very quietly, ‘Marion, come home
+dear.’ To Captain Ainslie he uttered one reproach, ‘What had I done to
+you to merit this?’ But his heart was broken. He took his wife home,
+and to the day of his death, which occurred a month afterwards, he
+showed her nothing but love and kindness.
+
+“When she was left a widow, Mrs. Winstanley found that a bank, in which
+most of her husband’s money was deposited, had failed--misfortunes
+never come singly--and so she was reduced to poverty. She thereupon
+sold her furniture, and came to Abbott Mansfield with her child,
+changing her name to that of Standen, for she wished to be forgotten
+by all who had formerly known her. As both she and her husband had few
+relations, and these but distant ones, her object was attained. She
+lived quite alone.
+
+“When she knew that her days were numbered, she sent for me and told me
+all the painful story, making me take it down in writing, to be handed
+to my executors in case of my death before you became of age.
+
+“By her wish I was to be her child’s guardian, to place her in the
+care of some trustworthy person, and, on her twenty-first birthday to
+acquaint her with the facts; also to hand over to her the sum of one
+thousand pounds, which was all that Mrs. Winstanley had to leave. The
+interest of this has been paid to Mrs. O’Hara for her care of you.
+
+“I need not tell you, my dear, that no other person has the slightest
+idea of your identity--or of this story. Here is the paper with your
+mother’s signature.”
+
+He handed her the document, which she took with trembling hands,
+looking at the shaking writing “Marion Orme Winstanley” with dim eyes.
+
+“There is nothing to prevent you from burning that here in my library,
+if you choose. In this box are your certificates of birth and baptism,
+with your mother’s marriage papers, so that your identity can easily be
+established with my help. What do you say, my dear?”
+
+“I will take your advice in everything,” Muriel said, faintly. “You
+have been so kind----”
+
+“Pish! my dear. Had it not been for the expense of having three sons
+and two daughters to educate, Mrs. Gascoigne and I would have taken you
+in here. They are all out in the world now, and there is nothing to
+prevent your making this your home, if you would like it.”
+
+“There is no question of liking, dear Mr. Gascoigne; I could not be
+such a burden to you. I have thought of using my voice----”
+
+“As a singer? You will require at least a year’s more training.
+Although Mr. Oateson has given you invaluable help, he has not been in
+London for years, and the competition is so great that you would stand
+little chance at present, free as your voice is; and then, it will be
+very uphill work, my child.”
+
+The old lawyer watched the girl as she looked into the fire, her pale,
+delicately-cut profile standing out against the dark marble background
+of the mantel-piece.
+
+“As a child, you played with the boys, and with them you were a general
+favourite. You liked them all?”
+
+“Ah! how could I help it?” she said, impulsively. “And Kitty and
+Madge were so sweet with me; they were my only friends, for I felt
+instinctively that Mrs. Erskine did not wish me to go to the Rectory,
+and so I kept aloof from Ethel and Dick.”
+
+“If they were not so scattered about the world, Kitty and Madge would
+have had you to visit them; but India and Canada are so far off.
+Reginald is coming here for a few weeks before he goes to Melbourne to
+join his brother. You know that Robert is married out there?”
+
+“Yes. I hope he is as happy as Henry is with his wife.”
+
+“I believe they are much attached to one another. Two years ago, when
+Reginald came back from Oxford, he told me of something which may, or
+may not, be news to you.”
+
+“To me?” the girl repeated, meeting old Mr. Gascoigne’s keen scrutiny
+with amazement.
+
+“Yes; he told me that, subject to my approval, he would, when he was in
+a suitable position, ask you to be his wife. Have you never suspected
+this?”
+
+She stood up, staring in silent astonishment.
+
+“Never. I--can hardly believe it. Reginald! We have seen so little of
+each other--he has been so much away at his uncle’s.”
+
+“That is the very reason why he was struck so much with your beauty
+and fascination, my dear; the others, growing up with you, had become
+accustomed to both. Well--is Reginald’s feeling for you reciprocated?”
+
+The girl went up to him, and laid one hand--a little timidly--on his
+arm.
+
+“Do I understand that--you would sanction it, knowing--who I am?”
+
+“With the greatest pleasure, my child,” returned the old lawyer,
+smiling. “Your father was a major in a crack regiment, and the daughter
+of such a man as Major Winstanley is a prize for any man. Tut--tut!
+my dear,” as she stammered out her mother’s name, “we are none of us
+perfect. If she sinned, poor woman, she expiated her sin.”
+
+She stooped and kissed his hand, then drew herself upright, and brushed
+the tears from her eyes.
+
+“You are the noblest man I have ever known. I shall never forget your
+generosity--your goodness to one who would be treated with scorn and
+contumely by all who knew her story. With all my heart I thank you and
+Reginald. Please tell him and that I appreciate the honour he does me
+to the uttermost, but dear Mr. Gascoigne--I--” she flushed scarlet, and
+raised her face appealingly to his; “I--have never thought of him in
+that way, only as a friend. And now that I know who I am,” gathering
+strength as she went on, “I shall never marry. You will understand me,
+will you not? I must go right away--to London, and earn my own living
+where no one knows me. Mary Allen, who used to be at the farm, is
+married respectably to an ex-butler, and they let lodgings near Russell
+Square. I can go there, can I not? Please do not be angry with me, Mr.
+Gascoigne.”
+
+“I am not angry, my dear. Think it all over at your leisure, there
+is no hurry whatever for a few days. Reginald will not be here for a
+fortnight. Your money is so well invested that it has increased to
+fifteen hundred pounds, but that only means about seventy pounds a
+year, and the lessons will be a consideration. That, my dear, will be
+my affair; as your guardian I insist upon it, and you will not refuse
+me. And what about that paper?”
+
+“I will burn it,” said Muriel, putting it into the fire when she had
+again thanked him. “And when I am successful you will let me pay off my
+debt, please?” smiling sadly. “If I am a failure----”
+
+“Never despair--you have youth, beauty, and talent; and you have a
+home here whenever you like to come. By the bye, here is your father’s
+portrait. His face is a very fine one.”
+
+She took it eagerly, and after a long scrutiny kissed it passionately
+again and again.
+
+“Captain Ainslie must have been a traitor of the deepest dye to wrong
+such a friend as my father--and he escaped scot-free,” she said, in
+tones of concentrated scorn and contempt. “No doubt he is living in
+happiness and luxury, reckless of the misery he caused.”
+
+“He may have really loved your mother. For five years he led a
+wandering life. Of course he left the regiment, loathed by everyone in
+it. Then he married, and settled down in the West Indies. I ascertained
+this myself; but I do not know now whether he is living or dead.”
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER II.
+
+
+A railway train is sometimes the scene of much misery in those who
+travel by its carriages; sometimes of much mirth, most often of the
+assumed indifference adopted by English people as a rule, and which,
+despite the contempt with which it is spoken of by dwellers on the
+Continent, is also the theme of admiration to chatterers.
+
+Two people occupying a first class carriage, of congenial sympathies,
+can often while away the tedium of several hours. If their sympathies
+are opposed, they will of course entertain mutual distrust and dislike.
+
+When they are of opposite sexes, and experienced enough to judge of
+character impartially, friendships are often formed which endure for a
+lifetime.
+
+“I owe you many thanks for the pleasure you have permitted me to enjoy.
+I looked forward to a wearisome journey only, but you have accepted my
+society, and made me your debtor as well.”
+
+“I could not help myself, you see,” smiling.
+
+“But you might have frozen me up in the true British style, and
+then I should have had to wait in helpless misery for the first
+stopping-place. You looked very annoyed when I got in at Swindon.”
+
+“I am sorry; but the guard was fee’d to let me be alone if possible.
+Perhaps the desire of wanting to hide yourself, to get away even from
+one’s best friends, is happily strange to you.”
+
+He was silent for a little, not looking at her.
+
+Had anyone told Muriel that she would be holding a conversation with
+a perfect stranger less than an hour after she had started, she would
+have repudiated the imputation with scorn.
+
+Her nature was a very proud and reticent one, she was not given to
+sudden confidences.
+
+But there was in her as in all natural women--a hidden spring of
+impulse, and on meeting a nature sympathetic with her own, she almost
+unconsciously broke down her guard, with the result that she and her
+companion were talking as naturally as if they had known each other for
+years.
+
+“May I hope that you will forgive my presumption in expressing
+sympathy? You are so young to experience suffering.”
+
+“I am twenty-one in years, but I feel quite old,” she said, quietly. “I
+am going to London to make my fortune--or to fail.”
+
+“You have resolution enough to succeed, but a woman has many
+difficulties to encounter. And you aren’t of the calibre to be a
+governess.”
+
+“Never.” She shuddered a little. “I possess no certificates.”
+
+“Had you a dozen, your face and air would debar you,” he said, with
+quiet courtesy. “May one ask which of the professions you are wishing
+to enter? I know a great many people, and perhaps you may allow me the
+pleasure of being of some service to you.”
+
+“I thank you very much, but I am thinking of the stage.”
+
+He started, and looked at her for a moment or two, at which she
+laughed, and drew farther into her corner.
+
+“Your offer of introduction had better be withdrawn. You did not expect
+to hear that.”
+
+“You are right. I did not expect to hear that,” he repeated.
+
+“You think that it is a pity I have chosen this--career?”
+
+“It is fraught with many dangers, particularly for one gently born and
+brought up with luxury.”
+
+“My father and my mother were; but I lost them both in earliest
+childhood, and all my life has been passed in a farmhouse amid
+middle-class poverty.”
+
+“But your friends? Pardon me if I am impertinent; I do not mean to be.”
+
+“I know that you do not,” she said, simply. “My mother had changed her
+name, so that no one knew me. The lawyer of the place was appointed
+my guardian; he and his wife were very kind to me, even when--” She
+paused, then went on again. “I was a great deal with them and their
+family, in fact, we grew up together. They are all in the world now,
+most of them married. The girls live abroad, too far for me to visit
+them.”
+
+“Have you made up your mind to become an actress?”
+
+“It is the only thing I am fit for. I can sing a little; the organist
+at Idleminster Cathedral was a good musician, and he trained my voice.
+I used to sing the solo in the anthems and oratorios on special
+occasions--hidden behind a screen, of course. And I have had lessons in
+elocution and declamation from an actor. He knew Shakespeare and most
+of the French and English dramatists by heart. I used to listen to him
+for hours.”
+
+“What was his name?”
+
+“Gray Leighton.”
+
+He started violently with excitement.
+
+“Gray Leighton. You knew him well. I have been trying to find him for
+four years. You are fortunate to have had lessons from one of the most
+gifted actors of the day. Did you know his history?”
+
+“No. He was crippled, and could not stand for more than a few minutes
+at a time. He came to Idleminster about four years ago, and lived very
+quietly, making no friends nor ever reciting in public. I got to know
+him through his little boy. The child was very lovely. I used to play
+with him, teach him music, and take him out. His father would always
+trust Bertie with me.”
+
+Watching her lovely face, with its look of sweet girl-woman’s sympathy
+in the deep clear eyes, the man thought it was matter for small wonder
+that a father had trusted her with his only child.
+
+“Different versions of his story will reach your ears in London, so
+it is as well that you should know the truth. Leighton’s professional
+name was Lyon Fenton. His mother was an Italian, and he inherited her
+southern nature. As an actor, it is hardly too extravagant to say
+that he took the world by storm. Paris, Florence, Milan, and Vienna
+idolised him. He was five-and-thirty when he came to London, and there
+his slight foreign accent was the only impediment to his success. His
+Romeo, Othello, Shylock, and Hamlet were the constant theme among
+critics, who almost to a man praised him. But he did not like London
+and left it after the second year for Italy. On the eve of his marriage
+with a beautiful young actress who played Juliette to his Romeo, his
+_fiancée_ eloped with his best friend.”
+
+Muriel was listening with breathless attention, her eyes full of
+indignation at his last sentence.
+
+“What horrible treachery!”
+
+“Unfortunately no new thing. The girl was duped into believing some
+base fabrications about Fenton, and impetuously went off with the
+man who considered nothing so long as he attained his object. Fenton
+followed them, and a duel was fought, in which he was unfortunately
+wounded in the hip. His adversary escaped, for Fenton generously fired
+in the air rather than injure the man who had married the girl he
+himself loved.
+
+“Here you have the man’s character--erratic, quixotic, impetuous, but
+noble to the core.
+
+“When the girl discovered her husband’s treachery she poisoned him and
+herself, leaving a letter for Fenton, entreating his forgiveness. The
+child Bertie is theirs.”
+
+Muriel drew a long breath, unconscious that tears were trembling on her
+eyelashes.
+
+“Oh!” she said with feeling, “what a tragedy, and all occasioned by a
+man’s perfidy. The world has lost a great actor, whose whole life is
+spoiled. Then Mr. Leighton is not Bertie’s father?”
+
+“He has never married; the man’s nature is not one to change. He must
+be about five-and-forty now. I knew all this, as I was a personal
+friend of Fenton, for whom I had the greatest admiration. But when his
+injury necessitated his leaving the stage, he disappeared, and none
+of his former friends nor acquaintances ever heard of him. Knowing
+his sensitive nature, I understood, and did not try to find his
+whereabouts. From time to time he sent me tidings, but it is quite four
+years since I heard anything.”
+
+“How strange it is that we should both know him,” Muriel said,
+reflectively.
+
+“Very. I can understand your desire for the dramatic profession if you
+have been under the spell of Leighton’s influence. He gave you lessons,
+you said?”
+
+“Three times a week for the last two years and a half. I thought it
+wisest to prepare myself as much as possible; but I did not like to
+tell Mr. Gascoigne, the lawyer, that I was thinking of the stage. He
+knows that I can sing a little, and that I am wanting to come out
+by-and-bye.”
+
+“It is but a step from the vocal to the dramatic stage,” he said,
+smiling a little. Then, very gravely: “I have lived so many years
+longer in the world than you, that you will possibly permit me to give
+you my opinion. For one absolutely alone in the world, as you are, of
+gentle birth, you will be cruelly exposed to fearful dangers, from
+which it will be next to impossible to escape.”
+
+“But I am not so very young,” she said wistfully “and the Gascoignes
+will never lose sight of me, I think. I am going to live in Bloomsbury,
+with a very respectable woman and her husband who let lodgings, and I
+should pay her to accompany me to the theatre. She used to be one of
+the maids at the farm.
+
+“What other can I do? I have about £70 a year of my own, which will
+just keep me from starving; barely that in London, but I detest the
+country. I cannot be a governess, nor serve in a shop. Mr. Leighton has
+given me two letters of introduction to the managers of the ‘Coliseum,’
+and ‘Opera Comique.’”
+
+“So, then he has a very high opinion of your powers or you would not
+have obtained those introductions.”
+
+“To the two best theatres, owning the most critical of managers? But I
+would rather be condemned by them than praised by the inferior ones.
+Mr. Gascoigne has promised to come up and see me in three or four
+weeks, and I am to go down there for Easter. I suppose he thinks that I
+shall fail.”
+
+They were nearing Charing Cross by this, and Muriel looked out at the
+densely packed houses.
+
+“Is this your first visit to town?”
+
+“Yes,” she said, wondering whether he would tell her what his name was,
+or whether they would never meet again.
+
+“In a very short time we shall have arrived,” he said quickly. “You
+will permit me to say that I hope we shall meet as friends? Here is my
+card. Please do not look at it now--I have a reason,” meeting her look
+of inquiry with a smile as he handed her the little slip of cardboard
+to her. “If you will grant me permission I will send you seats for the
+‘Coliseum’ to-morrow, as I--know the manager, Mr. Harbury, and so it is
+nothing. You will like to see _Hamlet_?”
+
+“Very much indeed. I have the greatest longing to see Francis Keene,
+and to compare him with Mr. Leighton.”
+
+“He will not bear the comparison,” her companion smiled. “You would
+not, I suppose, entertain the idea of acting as secretary to a literary
+man?” he said presently. “And possibly writing his wife’s letters
+as well? I have a friend who is wanting a lady in that capacity,
+and I think you would suit him admirably, that is, if I am not too
+impertinent?”
+
+“Oh! no; you are very kind to think of me. How you must dislike the
+stage,” laughing a little, “to endeavour to persuade even a stranger to
+leave it alone.”
+
+He turned to her and held out his hand.
+
+“It is because I no longer think of you as a stranger, Miss----”
+
+“Winstanley,” putting her hand into his.
+
+“Thank you. I will give you the address of my friend, so that if you
+should care to see him you might write in a day or two; in any case,
+he would be a good person for you to know. May I mention your name?
+His wife gives ‘At Homes’ every Saturday, and you would meet many
+professionals there. Here is the address.”
+
+“Meanwhile I am not to know of whom I am to think as a true friend.”
+
+“Until the day after to-morrow,” smiling; “that is if you think your
+landlady will accompany you to the theatre. I imagine you see that you
+have no one else at present, though that will not be for long.”
+
+“Mrs. Armstrong will look rather strange--”
+
+“She will not be noticed much in a box. Here we are. What a pleasant
+journey it has been. Shall I get you a cab?”
+
+And as Muriel found herself driving to Charlotte Street in a hansom
+she thought that if all her days in London were only half as pleasant
+as this had proved, she would never have cause to regret leaving Abbot
+Mansfield.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+The “Coliseum” was crowded as usual.
+
+Nine months in the year the cultivated and impassioned acting of
+Francis Keene drew rapt admiration from packed audiences, who listened
+to every syllable that fell from his firm mouth.
+
+As lessee, stage-manager, and principal actor, he had his hands full,
+and his genius for staging a play from Shakespeare downwards was known
+throughout Europe.
+
+Critics could find no flaw in this, though they occasionally differed
+about his rendering of a part.
+
+His tall, well-proportioned figure moved easily on the stage, and
+the clearly-cut features and musical, perfectly-trained voice were
+especially fitted for picturesque _rôles_, although Keene was too true
+an actor to adhere to them.
+
+His Shylock was as fine as his Romeo, and King Lear as Benedict,
+Othello as Iago.
+
+Down in rural little Abbot Mansfield his name of course was known, but
+as he was particularly averse to being interviewed and would not allow
+his photographs to be exhibited in any shop or photographer’s window,
+his face was totally unfamiliar to Muriel Winstanley.
+
+Even Gray Leighton had no portrait amongst his large collection of
+celebrated members of the profession.
+
+Her delight at being about to witness the finest play of the greatest
+dramatist the world has ever produced, and of seeing the great actor in
+his favourite part--many pronouncing him to be absolutely unrivalled
+in it--was so intense that she was strung up to the greatest pitch of
+excitement.
+
+Mrs. Armstrong had been with her husband in the pit she told Muriel,
+and in her own language, “he looked that beautiful, miss, but so sad as
+made me quite miserable, I did want him to ’ave ’ad the poor young lady
+all comf’table at the end, and she so pretty, but it goes contrary all
+through.”
+
+Muriel’s black evening gown would not attract much, if any, attention
+she hoped in their box on the second tier, and Mrs. Armstrong was,
+as she expressed it frequently, that flustered at being for the first
+time in such an exalted position, that she kept well backward from
+observation in the intervals between the acts.
+
+It was a grand performance.
+
+Keene’s theory was that _Hamlet_ was a man about thirty years of age.
+
+His eccentricity and madness merely assumed of course, and in the scene
+with Ophelia, his
+
+                     “Get thee to a nunnery, go,”
+
+was uttered with regretful longing rather than peremptory harshness,
+great love for her was revealed beneath the stern language, and his
+last wild embrace was full of a man’s passionate agony in parting from
+all that made life worth living to him.
+
+The girl sat as one entranced, drinking in every word, not letting a
+single gesture escape her keen scrutiny.
+
+Her eyes flashed responsively, her breath came in gasps, she was deaf
+and blind to her surroundings.
+
+Once or twice Keene himself glanced up at the beautiful sympathetic
+face, and his own eyes glowed with quiet triumph.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER III.
+
+
+“My dear, Mr. Keene was perfectly right to advise you as he did. A man
+of the world’s advice may always be taken in matters of this sort; and
+a girl who lives alone is always open to criticism, you know, even if
+she have no relations.”
+
+“I am singularly fortunate in my friends,” the girl said, with a bright
+smile. “Mr. Gascoigne says I was born under a lucky star.”
+
+“In meeting Mr. Keene you were undoubtedly,” Mrs. Carroll said, with a
+swift look at the tall, graceful figure bending over the escretoire;
+“but if you knew how many failures Mr. Carroll and I have had in
+trying to get a lady secretary, you would say that we were the lucky
+people. There seemed to be no chance of finding what we wanted. If
+a girl were clever, she was vulgar or self-assertive; if lady-like,
+utterly stupid, or worse still,”--laughing--“weak and incapable of
+holding an opinion. Perhaps the most objectionable type was the girl of
+the period--masculine, irrepressible, and in fact----”
+
+“Full of bounce,” added Mr. Carroll, laughing and looking up from the
+_Times_; “like Miss Morton, who dictated to me instead of taking down
+my ideas. I assure you, Miss Winstanley, that she argued about every
+chapter in ‘Young Calderon’s Career,’ until I suggested that she should
+write a novel herself and leave me to my own little sphere.”
+
+“I wish that I knew shorthand,” Muriel said, presently, getting paper
+and pens ready; “it would be so much quicker for you.”
+
+“But it entails re-writing into longhand, whereas you get my MSS. all
+ready for the printers. No, I prefer this way; you are the quickest
+longhand writer I have ever known. I am only afraid that just when you
+get into my ways and ‘fads’ you will blossom into a Mrs. Siddons, and I
+shall be in misery again.”
+
+The girl laughed.
+
+“Mr. Keene is too severe a critic, and since he has so very kindly
+undertaken to bring me out, he will not let me do anything in a hurry.
+It will be months yet, I expect.”
+
+“Humph! I hope it will,” muttered the novelist. “My dear,” to his wife,
+“have you any letters for Miss Winstanley this morning, because the
+sooner I can begin the better.”
+
+“Only a few more invitations for my ‘At Home’ on the 25th,” said Mrs.
+Carroll; “here is the list. And a line to Lady Hetherington to say
+that I expect her and all her party. I wish she were more æsthetic in
+her tastes--her friends are so often objectionable; but it cannot be
+helped.”
+
+Muriel wrote the letter and the invitations rapidly in her clear,
+somewhat eccentric, handwriting, then handed them to Mrs. Carroll,
+who passed into the adjoining room, which was only separated by
+gracefully-draped curtains, for the novelist and his wife were original
+enough to care for one another after ten years of married life, and Mr.
+Carroll liked to have his dainty little wife always in view whilst he
+was dictating, and even composing.
+
+Her morning-room and his library were thus in juxtaposition, and as
+he walked up and down, with his notes or MSS. in his hand, smoking an
+eternal cigarette or cigar, he would catch a gleam of her golden hair,
+as she sat surrounded by a pretty mass of crewel silks and broideries.
+
+Muriel got an hour or more before ten o’clock a.m. for study, and after
+two o’clock she was free, Mrs. Carroll only asking her to accompany
+her in her drives and calls as a friendly request, to be refused or
+accepted at will.
+
+She would drive her down to the “Coliseum” when Mr. Keene had wished
+her to witness a rehearsal; and in the evenings there were always
+stalls or a box for one of the theatres, for Muriel was to see and hear
+everything by way of gaining experience.
+
+She herself did not know what Mr. Keene had informed the Carrolls, who
+were his greatest friends.
+
+That Gray Leighton had so carefully trained her in voice, gesture,
+manner, expression, having the most responsive ground to work upon,
+she was so well drilled in Shakespeare, Sheridan, Molière, Racine--in
+fact, in the brilliant actor’s splendid _repertoire_--that personal
+experience was the one thing lacking to develop her splendid powers.
+
+She knew now that Keene and Leighton had been friends united by the
+closest sympathy.
+
+The older man lacked the younger’s sustaining power, which at
+five-and-twenty--his age when Leighton left England--was not at its
+full zenith of course.
+
+Leighton had at once perceived his young rival’s strength, and knew
+that his own fame would never be so lasting.
+
+The critics had condemned a too great enthusiasm in him, alleging
+that his excitable nature led him to expend himself too soon in a
+play; that, in consequence, his _finale_ was apt to be lacking in the
+interest felt by his audience in the early part of the evening.
+
+Keene had felt the greatest admiration, however, for him, and he had
+spoken to Muriel as he had thought from the first, his own modesty
+underrating his own capabilities.
+
+As a manager he knew that he himself had no living equal.
+
+Sparing no pains, care, nor expense, he searched the world’s most
+remote corners for unique talent and _objets d’art_, so that he never
+incurred the mortification of reading that his productions were
+“one-act plays.”
+
+All the minor _rôles_ were as carefully rehearsed as his own, and the
+actors in his cast, even the very servants, received the most tempting
+offers and larger salaries than were usually paid--by outside men as
+inducement to leave the “Coliseum.”
+
+“Are you ready, Miss Winstanley?” asked the novelist, as Mrs. Carroll
+left the room. “I don’t mind if you stop me twenty times; but for
+Heaven’s sake don’t go on too fast and get muddled. I have only notes
+here, you know. Where did we leave off?”
+
+“The twins want to go to the theatre--the Gaiety,” said Muriel, in
+tones of suppressed laughter, as she read what she had written. “‘Let’s
+pit it to-night,’ whispered Henry. ‘Ma’s in the humour to fork out, as
+the lodgers have paid up.’”
+
+“Got that? All right then,” and Mr. Carroll began striding up and down,
+puffing out smoke, and looking at his notes.
+
+“‘How much are you worth?’ asked Henrietta. ‘I’m stumped.’
+
+“‘Two bob. But I shall make her give us five, and we can go on the top
+of a ’bus. You go and eat some sandwiches, and I’ll tackle her now. She
+can have a flirtation with the major all the evening.’
+
+“‘Poor wretch, I pity him!’ said Henrietta. ‘Ma will talk about her
+poor husband until he’ll wish himself out of it. I do want to see the
+serpentine dance. It’s lovely.’
+
+“‘You’ll be trying to do it with a table-cloth, to-morrow,’ sneered
+Henry. ‘You’re mad on dancing.’
+
+“‘I’d rather be mad on dancing than on lodgers,’ Henrietta answered,
+epigrammatically, bouncing out of the room. ‘You get the cash,’ she
+called as a parting shot.”
+
+“What are you laughing at!” Mr. Carroll asked, in surprise. “Do you
+find it amusing? It is very vulgar, of course; but I assure you, no
+exaggeration.”
+
+“It is very wonderful to me,” Muriel said, taking a fresh sheet of
+paper, “that you can philosophise so deeply when you please, and then
+put in a chapter like this--the variety is unique.”
+
+“The publishers tell me that it is what the public like. Life is
+not all beer and skittles, you know, and yet if it were, we should
+very soon tire of them. There were two little brutes who talked just
+like that in a place where I stayed once in my young days. ‘Chapter
+thirty-four. The howl of the pessimist is one of the signs of the
+times, one that cannot be checked too strongly, for it is the outcome
+of a discontent fatal to any great achievement, and as false as it is
+hurtful.’”
+
+A dissertation on pessimism followed, and quotations from so many
+classical authors of olden and modern time as showed that the author
+knew his subject thoroughly, and was a man of no mean understanding.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+Mrs. Carroll’s “At Home” promised to be a very brilliant affair.
+
+There were two ambassadors coming, the latest social “lion,” and the
+most brilliant members of the legal, literary and dramatic professions.
+
+Mrs. Carroll had asked Muriel to go with her to Madame Irène’s about
+ten days beforehand, for she said she always felt more comfortable if
+she put on her gown before a friend whose judgment she could rely upon.
+
+All innocently Muriel assented, and expressed genuine admiration when
+the dainty little woman had herself arrayed in soft, thick brocade of
+the colours of almond blossom and delicate green leaves, with some real
+old lace on the bodice.
+
+“It doesn’t make me look too old? My husband likes handsome materials,”
+she said, anxiously.
+
+“_Mais_, madame is _superbe_,” the Frenchwoman said, clasping her
+hands.
+
+“It suits you perfectly, Mrs. Carroll. Everyone wears brocade now, and
+you will never look old,” Muriel said, smiling.
+
+Mrs. Carroll gave a sigh of relief, and then turned to inspect some
+white silks that were hanging over chairs.
+
+“Do you like this, Muriel?” she said, touching one of the thickest.
+
+“It would suit mademoiselle,” said Madame Irène, looking at the
+delicate complexion and the waves of deep gold hair.
+
+Muriel shook her head.
+
+“I am in mourning--”
+
+“But you will look sweet in white,” said Mrs. Carroll. “You must have a
+new gown too. Madame, can you make one in time?”
+
+And, in spite of the girl’s look of entreaty, the little woman carried
+her point, laughingly telling her as they drove home that she had
+arranged it beforehand with her husband.
+
+“We wanted you to look your best, and white is so becoming for girls.
+Old married people can do anything, you know,” she added, with a
+bewitching little smile that went to Muriel’s heart as she tried to
+thank her.
+
+Very lovely she looked on the night in the long straight folds of the
+perfectly-fitting gown, with some white moss-rose buds fastened at her
+breast.
+
+They had been sent to her anonymously, and she thought it was merely
+another of Mrs. Carroll’s many kindnesses.
+
+She could not resist the pleasure of wearing them, although she
+discovered her mistake when she made her appearance in the drawing-room.
+
+As soon as the rooms began filling, music, songs, and recitations
+succeeded each other, there being so many professionals present that
+there was no danger of _ennui_.
+
+Muriel played and sang, Signor Losti, the great master, taking a great
+fancy to her voice, and, finding that she knew Gray Leighton, striking
+up a friendship on the spot.
+
+Mr. Keene came on from the “Coliseum,” and, heedless of fatigue, took
+his part amongst the performers with the winning courtesy so often seen
+in great _artistes_.
+
+He said little to Muriel, seeing that she was surrounded by a circle of
+admirers, until late in the evening, when Mrs. Carroll approached him
+and asked with a smile if he would give them one more delight.
+
+He smiled and went up to Muriel.
+
+“Miss Winstanley, are you tired?”
+
+“No,” she smiled, rising instantly, wondering a little at his question.
+
+“I want you to recite with me.”
+
+“I?” starting back and turning white; “Mr. Keene--you are cruel!”
+
+“No,” he returned kindly, “I am quite sure that you can if you will.
+You will not be nervous?”
+
+“Horribly--I--perhaps by myself I could, but with the greatest actor of
+the day, it would be such a terrible ordeal--”
+
+“No worse than with Gray Leighton. Come and rehearse with me.”
+
+Trembling, she placed her one hand on his arm and he led her through
+the conservatory, across the hall, into the library.
+
+“Do not be so frightened, child. You are positively shaking,” he said,
+putting one hand on her shoulder. “Imagine that you are in Leighton’s
+library in Idleminster and that I am he. You know Beatrice’s lines in
+_Much Ado_? Yes, I am sure of your memory. Take me up in the Church
+Scene, Act IV. _Exeunt_ Friar, Hero and Leonato. Beatrice and Benedict
+are alone.”
+
+He went back a few steps to give her time to pull herself together,
+then approached her with:
+
+“‘Lady Beatrice, have you wept all this while?’”
+
+For one instant only she hesitated, the remembrance of the scene with
+its dawning of passion under cover of the exquisite badinage sending a
+flood of colour to her face.
+
+Then she gave her answer--
+
+“‘Yea, and I will weep awhile longer,’” with trembling excitement,
+giving the sound of indignant tears in the rich but wondrously sweet
+tone, trained to perfection by Gray Leighton’s sensitive ear.
+
+The scene went on to its end without a break.
+
+Keene, knowing the passionate nature of the girl woman, letting himself
+reveal the great love of Benedict despite the laughing nature, and the
+torrent of light jest that rolls from his lips.
+
+She rose to it, keeping well under control even when with the
+confession of her love almost unconsciously forced from her:
+
+“‘I love you with so much of my heart, that none is left to protest.’”
+
+He caught her to his heart, kissing her hair as he murmured
+passionately--“Come, bid me do anything for thee.”
+
+She paled, but laughed as he released her, with sweetest witchery
+pelting him with taunts until he protests:
+
+“‘By this hand, Claudio shall render me a dear account,’” and the scene
+ends.
+
+She stood perfectly still, then swayed a moment, falling on a chair as
+he went forward.
+
+Seeing the severe tension to which her nerves were pitched, he left
+her again, quietly looking over some books, but watching her covertly,
+knowing she would not faint now.
+
+And in a few minutes she drew a deep breath and got to her feet again,
+going to him, her eyes asking the question her lips could not utter.
+
+He took her hands in his, pressing them with a strong close grasp.
+
+“I am satisfied. You are worthy of Gray Leighton’s tutelage. I will
+prove my words soon. Meanwhile--hush, child, do not give way now,”
+her features were quivering as she read the enthusiasm in the strong,
+intellectual face looking down at her so kindly. With a great effort
+she forced down her emotion and murmured, brokenly, “How can I thank
+you?”
+
+“By coming back with me and going through it again before Mrs.
+Carroll’s guests. You can--_will_ you? You can trust yourself?”
+
+“Can I, Mr. Keene? For God’s sake think--_can_ I?” she asked, looking
+at him with all the anxious longing of a great soul in her beautiful
+eyes.
+
+He gave her his arm with a reassuring little nod, and they entered the
+drawing-room.
+
+Keene took his hostess aside and explained in a few words. Then,
+turning to Muriel, led her to the centre of the room, and simply
+announced the scene.
+
+She did not hesitate now.
+
+Clear as a bell her laughter rang out, her gestures full of quaint
+witchery, void of ordinary theatrical assumption, her manner that of a
+perfectly-bred lady as she alternately yielded and taunted Benedict.
+
+There was a storm of applause as they finished, from every one of
+either sex.
+
+Again and again Keene was pressed to give an encore, but he knew that
+the girl had been taxed to the uttermost for that night, and he let her
+go.
+
+Old Losti went up to him and muttered a few significant words--
+
+“My friend, do you know what Scott Roberts has just said to me? Mr.
+Keene will do well to transplant that diamond to the ‘Coliseum.’”
+
+The actor’s eyes flashed, but he said curtly--
+
+“I say nothing, for I do not know myself. Miss Winstanley is only an
+_amateur_ at present.”
+
+Later on when the guests had all departed Carroll, who had been
+enjoying a cigar, strolled up to Keene, who was making his _adieux_ to
+Muriel and his hostess.
+
+“Do not hurry, Keene, have a cigar in the library, the ladies will not
+object to two smokers, and they can stand umpires.”
+
+“Why?” laughed the other, as he looked for Mrs. Carroll’s permission
+before lighting up.
+
+“You know the misery I have endured for the last year with inefficient
+secretaries,” said the novelist, with mock indignation; “my hair nearly
+turned white with worry. You introduce a pearl beyond price to me, and
+when I begin to breathe freely--it’s perfectly monstrous, Keene. You
+are going to turn her into a Ristori, and leave me to my misery again.”
+
+“My dear fellow,” the other rejoined, laughing; “can I or any other
+man make a Ristori out of a nonentity? Miss Winstanley’s inner
+consciousness told her long ago in what direction her talent lay, and
+Gray Leighton confirmed her. I have done nothing but test my friend’s
+pupil--and I find what I expected.”
+
+“She is too good to be kept back,” Mrs. Carroll said, kissing Muriel,
+who was flushing and trying to escape. “Much as I regret it in one
+way, for we shall be the losers, it would be unfair to attempt to
+dissuade her. And you know, Colin, that Mr. Keene told us from the
+first----” she stopped, laughing. “The mischief is out; forgive me for
+my indiscretion.”
+
+Muriel had turned quickly to the actor, her eyes sparkling.
+
+“Ah! please tell me, Mr. Keene. Did you think--before--that I----
+
+“Could act?” enjoying her confusion quietly. “Yes, Miss Winstanley,
+after I had spoken to you for half-an-hour I felt convinced that you
+had a great talent for the stage; and the more I knew you, the stronger
+grew my impression. To-night you have given us all proof, and I am
+sure,” with a smile at the Carrolls, “that no one of your friends would
+wish to rob the histrionic profession of one of its future stars.
+Having had the advantage of two or three years of such excellent
+training, there need not be such long delay as is necessary with a
+complete novice. Experience is requisite, after which I hope you will
+have a brilliant career.”
+
+“Abominable!” cried Carroll. “If you were not beyond criticism,
+Keene, I would get Scott Roberts and Alex. Fraser to slate your next
+production. But you stand on such a deuced high pedestal that no one
+can touch you.”
+
+They all laughed as the actor rose to go, Carroll putting his arm
+around his shoulders as they left the room.
+
+The two had been close friends for years.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER IV.
+
+
+True to his promise, Mr. Gascoigne came up to town and saw Muriel.
+
+She had of course told him of her good fortune in meeting with the
+Carrolls, and when he saw the genuine affection they both felt for
+her, and heard from the novelist how delighted he was with his new
+secretary, he strongly advised her to give up the idea of using her
+voice in any way as a professional.
+
+She smiled, but Mrs. Carroll told him of her triumph with Mr. Keene,
+and of his sanguine prognostications for her future, and the old lawyer
+raised his eyebrows.
+
+“I have seen Francis Keene in most of his best _rôles_. He is not the
+sort of man to take a sudden fancy I should say. He is considered one
+of the most relentless of managers and sternest of critics; if he asked
+you to act with him, Muriel, your future is evidently decided, and you
+are to be congratulated.”
+
+“We hope to keep her with us for as long as she likes to stay. My
+husband is so happy with her secretarial work that he dreads the time
+when she will not have the leisure,” Mrs. Carroll said, looking at
+Muriel affectionately.
+
+“Well, it is of no use for me to remind you of your promised visit
+to us at Easter,” Mr. Gascoigne said, when leaving. “As things are
+it would only make a break, I suppose. You know you have only to
+come, child, when you like. Let me have a wire or a letter when your
+first appearance is arranged, and I will run up to applaud you. Mrs.
+Gascoigne sends her dearest love; she is, as you know, too much of an
+invalid to travel. Reginald wanted to see you very badly, but I thought
+I would come alone this time. You can let him have a message if--the
+wish should ever prove reciprocal,” he added, laughing grimly.
+
+“Oh, I shall not do anything for a very long time yet,” the girl said,
+shaking her head, leaving the last sentence unanswered. “As you say,
+Mr. Keene is far too particular to recommend me anywhere until I am
+pretty certain not to disgrace his introduction.”
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+About a fortnight after Mrs. Carroll’s “At Home,” Muriel was sitting
+alone in the drawing-room one afternoon, playing some of her favourite
+Chopin’s _nocturnes_.
+
+It had been a wet day, and Mrs. Carroll, who detested rain, had gone to
+her room to nurse a headache.
+
+The servant announced Mr. Keene, and Muriel got up quickly.
+
+“Mr. Carroll is out, and Mrs. Carroll is in her room, but I will go to
+her----”
+
+“I came to see you, Miss Winstanley,” he said, quietly. “Miss D’Orsay
+broke down after acting last night, and the doctor says she must go
+abroad at once, as her chest is very delicate. Her understudy, Miss
+Cameron, is in great trouble, for her mother is dying. I gave her
+permission to go down to Bath yesterday, and I shall be sorry to have
+to wire to her for to-night.”
+
+“To-night?”
+
+“Yes. Miss D’Orsay is too ill. Besides, she cannot speak above a
+whisper. Will you take her place with me?”
+
+The girl looked at him with wide open startled eyes.
+
+“_You ask me to act in the ‘Coliseum’?_” she gasped. “Merciful Heaven!
+Am I dreaming?”
+
+[Illustration: “YOU ASK ME TO ACT IN THE ‘COLISEUM’?” SHE GASPED.]
+
+“No. Listen. I intend to put on ‘Much Ado About Nothing’ in a
+fortnight, and after you went through that scene with me, I meant you
+to be my Beatrice. Ophelia is not a difficult part except for the mad
+scene. Your voice is so exceptionally fine that the songs will be a
+great feature. If you know the old music you know mine. Nothing is new.
+Will you do it? You are word perfect, of course? Gray Leighton was so
+wrapped up in ‘Hamlet,’ that you must have often rehearsed with him.”
+
+“Yes. I am word perfect,” said Muriel, slowly. “I have done it many
+times, and I know the music; but----”
+
+She raised her eyes piteously to his face.
+
+“Will you do it as a favour to me?”
+
+“Can I face the audience, Mr. Keene? That is my only fear.”
+
+“Yes, or I would not ask you. I do not count a failure at the
+‘Coliseum,’” he said, smiling. “Will you come back with me and rehearse
+at once? I have all the people there, and we have over three hours. You
+shall dine at the theatre.”
+
+“Then you were sure of me?” she said, smiling in spite of herself, and
+the colour crept back to her face.
+
+“I felt I might rely upon your sympathy and help,” he returned,
+taking her hands and pressing them closely. “You see that I am in a
+difficulty, and I am selfish enough to come to you.”
+
+“How you put things,” the girl said, flushing. “I will do my best. I
+shall never dare to look straight in front of me, and if I die for it I
+will get through my part somehow.”
+
+“Thank you. Then there is no time to be lost. Will you let Mrs. Carroll
+know and put your hat on? You shall have some tea after the first
+rehearsal.”
+
+Mr. Carroll entered at that moment, and as Muriel passed him, she
+struck a sudden attitude, crying laughingly:
+
+“Behold Ophelia of the Coliseum Theatre!” and left the astonished
+novelist to receive explanation from Keene.
+
+In less than a few minutes she was back again in a picturesque big
+feathered hat and cloak, with some thick, fluffy furs round her throat.
+
+The actor’s brougham was waiting, and Mr. Carroll put her in, promising
+to be at the theatre with his wife as soon as possible.
+
+Keene had remembered every detail.
+
+A dressmaker was in attendance to make alterations in the dresses.
+
+Every employée was ordered to go into the auditorium.
+
+All the cast had been requested to attend for extra rehearsal before
+Muriel had been electrified by being asked to take the part.
+
+There was hardly any hitch.
+
+She was not only letter-perfect, but every gesture even to stage
+business had been carefully drilled in her; and her own rare
+receptivity and lightning-like perception saved her from many errors.
+
+She had acted before in the little theatre at Idleminster, but the
+difference from that to the big, stately grandeur of the ‘Coliseum’ was
+appalling.
+
+But Keene never took his eyes off her.
+
+Before going on he told her that she was to turn to him for every
+direction without fear.
+
+“No matter how slight your doubt, let me know.”
+
+And she obeyed him to the letter.
+
+So much so that after the first rehearsal of Ophelia’s part, he
+directed her to play to the house.
+
+Carroll had come down with about a dozen friends hastily collected, and
+these, with the employées, made a good appearance in the stalls.
+
+With a few directions, which were given in an undertone, under cover of
+mere conversation, the girl went through a second time.
+
+“Let yourself go,” said Keene. “Don’t be afraid.”
+
+“You have acted before?” said Rivers to her, who played Laertes. “But
+I have never had the pleasure of seeing you. I fancied that--from
+something Mr. Keene said--you were a novice; but I see my error. As he
+approves of course there can be no doubt of your success. He is well
+pleased I know.”
+
+“This is my first appearance in London,” she said, quietly. “I have
+taken parts in a little country theatre.”
+
+He stared at her for a little.
+
+“Then you have genius, Miss Winstanley,” he said, with courteous
+respect, and Keene approached.
+
+“You have done better than I hoped. It is needless to give you
+more fatigue. Go and rest until seven. Will you dine here?” to the
+Carrolls and two eminent critics who had come down out of kindness and
+friendship for Keene. “It will save you the trouble of going back, and
+it is past six already.”
+
+They at once accepted, and a very merry party it was.
+
+Keene took care that Muriel had a good dinner in spite of her
+protestations that she was too excited to eat, and some very especial
+Mumm was produced to wish her success.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+11.30 p.m.
+
+It was over.
+
+The theatre was just empty.
+
+Mr. Keene’s room was crowded, and Muriel’s name was in everyone’s mouth.
+
+She was a success.
+
+Three times had she been called before the curtain, trembling so that
+Keene had grasped her hand tightly, and the last time almost carried
+her to Mrs. Carroll who was awaiting her in the dressing-room.
+
+“Her fortune’s made!” said Scott Roberts, as he and Alex. Fraser went
+to greet her when Mrs. Carroll brought her to the green-room.
+
+“As usual, Keene’s on his feet. I did not see her bit of Beatrice the
+other night----”
+
+“I did,” nodded Fraser. “She was delightful. But anything like her
+acting to-night has never been heard of. All in a minute, you know.
+Marvellous I call it. And never hesitated for a word.”
+
+“I am glad you are pleased,” Muriel said, simply, but flushing with
+pleasure at the tone of genuine praise. “I was so horribly frightened
+and nervous when I heard someone say the house was packed that I
+thought I should have made an idiot of myself.”
+
+“You positively looked at the audience,” said Carroll. “Bang into the
+boxes too. My dear child, to talk of nervousness after that! You are a
+fraud!”
+
+“That was only when Mr. Keene was on the stage with me. I did not feel
+so afraid then.”
+
+“Your mad scene was quite novel. May one ask whether your rendering was
+entirely original, Miss Winstanley?” asked Alex. Fraser.
+
+But Keene came up, and laughingly pushed him aside.
+
+“Go home and write your ‘copy’ Fraser. She has had enough of it for one
+night, and I will not have her interviewed. When you have seen her as
+‘Beatrice’ on my stage you shall hear who trained her.”
+
+And by-and-bye the Carrolls took her home.
+
+For one minute, as they were waiting for the brougham and the attention
+of the Carrolls was taken by some friends, Muriel turned to the actor,
+who was standing close behind her.
+
+“You have not criticized me,” she said, wistfully. “Mr. Keene was I
+even half what you expected? Shall I ever be good enough?”
+
+He leaned down to her, speaking in her ear.
+
+“I will answer your question to-morrow. I cannot thank you to-night.”
+
+Then aloud:
+
+“Will you be round at five o’clock to-morrow, Miss Winstanley, please?
+I should like you to go through one or two scenes with me--a full
+rehearsal will not be necessary.”
+
+“I will not fail,” she said, giving him her hand.
+
+As they were driven away, Mrs. Carroll took her in her arms and kissed
+her.
+
+“You were simply wonderful, my dear. Everyone was electrified, and even
+after the other night I could hardly believe my eyes. We shall lose you
+now.”
+
+“Not a bit of it,” said her husband. “She must live somewhere, and why
+not with us? And she can still help me in the mornings, eh, my dear?”
+
+“How good you are to me,” she returned, gratefully. “Of course I will,
+Mr. Carroll. But when Miss D’Orsay gets well I shall have to wait
+perhaps a long time----”
+
+The novelist laughed.
+
+“You made a hit, my dear; your singing alone was worth hearing. Keene
+was pleased, though he said nothing; he seldom does. Think of it. You
+have made your _début_ on the stage of the ‘Coliseum,’ acting with the
+greatest man of the time, not as a super either but as leading lady. I
+shall put you into my next novel, and everyone will say how far-fetched
+is the plot.”
+
+The next day Mrs. Carroll drove her down to the theatre, saying she
+would return in time to take her back to dinner.
+
+As Muriel went to the green-room, Keene came out of his own and led her
+in, merely greeting her in his usual courteous way.
+
+The room was empty, and the girl looked round a little wonderingly.
+
+“Am I to rehearse here instead of on the stage?”
+
+He did not answer for a moment.
+
+She threw aside her wraps and stood waiting until he approached her
+quite closely.
+
+“I have heard from Miss D’Orsay that it is uncertain whether she will
+ever be strong enough to return to the stage,” he said distinctly,
+but in low tones. “Will you accept the position of leading lady, Miss
+Winstanley?”
+
+She drew back a few steps, staring at him in bewilderment, her deep
+eyes looking almost dazed.
+
+Then they flashed, and she ran towards him with outstretched hands.
+
+“Ah, you cannot mean it, you cannot,” she gasped, breathing
+convulsively.
+
+He took her hands in both his own, and drew her towards him very
+gently, looking into her eyes with such intensity that she felt he was
+reading her very soul.
+
+Her colour came and went with each breath.
+
+She was powerless to resist the strong magnetic influence felt by all
+who knew Francis Keene.
+
+“Yes, I mean it. I offer you the post for life if you will accept it.
+I want you to play Beatrice to my Benedict for all time. I have loved
+you from the time of our first meeting. Am I too presumptuous, or do
+you care a little for me? When I saw my roses in your breast, when you
+yielded to my caress that was inevitable then, I fancied that my touch
+had power to thrill you. Muriel--”
+
+Her eyes sank beneath his, and he held her close to his heart, stooping
+until his lips rested on hers.
+
+For a moment she rested so, then, with a sudden shudder, she drew
+herself away.
+
+“You do not know who I am,” she whispered hoarsely. “My
+mother--was--guilty of a great sin.”
+
+“Do not tell me, my child,” he interrupted. “I love you. Whoever or
+whatever were your people and their doings is nothing to me.”
+
+“I can never marry,” she said, clasping her hands to her heart, and
+speaking with passionate strength, “for if ever I meet a man named
+Philip Ainslie I will kill him. He merits death. If he has any
+descendants I will tell them of their father’s iniquity.”
+
+Keene started violently, and looked at her with amazement in his face.
+
+Then he went slowly to her, and put his hands on her shoulders.
+
+“My darling, what phantasy is this? Philip Ainslie was my father. I am
+his eldest son, Francis Ainslie. How has my father wronged you?”
+
+He never forgot the horror and misery that his words brought into her
+features, nor the pathos with which she recoiled, shuddering in every
+limb.
+
+“Oh, dear God! You, _Francis Ainslie_----”
+
+“Keene is my theatrical name. What is it, my child? What is the sin?”
+he asked, very tenderly. “Come to me and tell me.”
+
+But she shrank from him, pressing her hands to her eyes as though to
+shut him out from her sight.
+
+“You--you--” she moaned. “I cannot tell you--I cannot----”
+
+With two steps he caught her in his arms, crushing her resistance with
+unconscious strength, pressing passionate kisses on her pale, quivering
+lips.
+
+“You love me--you cannot deny that. I will yield you to no other,
+listen to no reason that can separate you from me. By this kiss I swear
+that you shall be my wife. Now tell me,” releasing her, “what was the
+wrong done by my father? What did he do. Tell me, Muriel.”
+
+White as death, she met his look and answered faintly--
+
+“He betrayed my mother and murdered my father.”
+
+Then, before he could prevent, slipped to the ground.
+
+For the first time in her life, she had fainted.
+
+[Illustration: FOR THE FIRST TIME IN HER LIFE SHE HAD FAINTED.]
+
+He raised her to a chair, and fetched brandy himself, but it was some
+minutes before she opened her eyes.
+
+As soon as she was fully sensible he made her drink some brandy mixed
+with water, fairly pouring it down her throat.
+
+Then he spoke to her, firmly holding her hands in a strong grasp.
+
+And by degrees, with her face hidden on his shoulder, she told him
+the story of Ainslie’s treachery, her mother’s weakness, and of her
+father’s nobility, though it cost him his life.
+
+As she finished she drew away from him and spoke very quietly--
+
+“You see that I could never be your wife. I could not marry the son of
+my father’s murderer. Do not seek to persuade me.”
+
+“Listen to me, my darling. My father was not a good man. He married
+at one-and-twenty my mother, a beautiful girl of seventeen, and in
+two years he deserted her after breaking her heart with his cruelty.
+She died when I was little more than six years old, but after nearly
+thirty years I can see her lovely face still, with its look of eternal
+unhappiness. I was educated at a monastery in Florence until I was
+eighteen, and I never saw my father’s face nor knew that he existed;
+he had made no sign nor troubled himself to know if I were living or
+dead. My mother’s father had settled some money upon me, which made me
+independent. When I came to England and went to Oxford I found that my
+father was living--that he had re-married. But though I sought him out,
+he betrayed such little interest in me that I left him, declaring that
+he would never see me again unless he summoned me.
+
+“I carried out my own career without his aid. His life was a very
+unhappy one, his second wife was a woman who was my mother’s opposite
+entirely--strong, domineering, extravagant. He died two years ago,
+before I could go to him, of a painful disease.
+
+“You see, my darling, that I knew nothing of his sin against your
+father--it must have been committed whilst I was in Florence. I will
+not press you now--you will require all your strength to act to-night.
+In a week from to-day I will hear your decision.”
+
+And as she got up wearily he took her in his arms and kissed her
+quietly with a strength and mastery that were irresistible.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+Neither by word nor look did Muriel feel that the man with whom
+she acted night after night remembered aught of their conversation
+concerning her mother’s and his father’s sin, nor of the love that he
+had shown to her.
+
+Whatever his genius evinced to the audience--and with Ophelia there is
+but little of the tender passion to be shown--Muriel knew that he was
+keeping his word to the letter, and, woman-like, she experienced just a
+little pique that it was so.
+
+His courtesy was always the same, but whether they were alone or not,
+his manner showed no more warmth than was requisite for a close friend.
+
+It had been a Monday when she first acted at the “Coliseum”; the week
+would be up on Tuesday.
+
+Muriel grew white and embarrassed, dreading to meet his look, yet
+looking forward each day to the evening.
+
+On the Saturday when the Carrolls came to fetch her, the novelist
+turned to Keene.
+
+“Will you drive down to Windsor with us to-morrow? Roberts is coming,
+and Sir Randal and Lady Trevelyan.”
+
+“I should have been delighted,” the actor said, cordially; “but I have
+to go down into the country--to see a friend who is ill. I have been
+wanting to go all the week, but Sunday is my only day, you see.”
+
+And on Monday when Muriel arrived at the theatre, her dresser brought
+her a note from Keene.
+
+ “My dear child,--You will find an old friend in the green room, who
+ is anxious to see you. Can you go now? You had better dress first,
+ however.
+
+                                                 “Yours, F. KEENE.”
+
+“Who can it be?” she said to herself, telling her dresser to be very
+quick.
+
+And in ten minutes she was ready and hastening to the green room.
+
+Keene was there, leaning over someone lying on a sofa.
+
+He turned to greet her, and then Muriel gave a little cry and ran
+forward to kneel by the couch.
+
+“You!” she said. “Oh! Mr. Leighton, this is so delightful. I never
+dared to hope that you would come to London.”
+
+The picturesque-looking man, sadly worn and wasted physically, lying
+back on the cushions, gave a warm smile, and took her hands in his.
+
+“When your letter reached me, child, telling of your success, I felt
+tempted to try to get to town; but--you know my weakness and dislike to
+being seen.”
+
+“Yes,” she said softly, “I know; and,” with a quick flush, “Mr. Keene
+managed it, I am sure.”
+
+“He found me out through you, child, of course. And yesterday,
+Francis,” to the actor who had left them alone, “I wonder if you
+realised what it was to me to see you? It was like old times--”
+
+Keene came back and went round to the other side from Muriel, leaning
+forward and putting one hand caressingly on Leighton’s shoulder.
+
+When he spoke, Muriel knew that he was putting stern control over
+himself, not letting the emotion he felt be detected by the swift,
+restless eyes that now and then lit up with all the fire and intellect
+of a great actor’s enthusiasm.
+
+It was no light thing, the meeting of the two men, separated by nearly
+ten years’ absence.
+
+They had parted with Leighton in the full zenith of his career, Keene
+the rising young actor of five-and-twenty, even then considered by old
+playgoers to be far in advance of all others.
+
+The one had been cut down in the prime of his manhood, his life’s
+happiness seared by one of the basest treacheries ever perpetrated by a
+friend. His enthusiasm damped, his sensitive nature shrinking beneath
+the blow, he could not endure the former publicity that had attached
+to his lightest action, preferring to live in an obscure country town,
+away from the torment of the world’s pity.
+
+“You have reached so high a pinnacle that the critics cannot influence,
+yet you will not disdain my congratulations, Francis. You were always
+greater far than I, and to your own power you add that of unrivalled
+management----”
+
+Keene laughingly put his hand over the speaker’s mouth.
+
+“Opinions differ, my dear Lyon. I would give a very great deal to have
+the old days revived. You worked wonders with your pupil here. I had
+little or nothing to add to your training, given at such disadvantage.”
+
+“I should like to witness the performance to-night from the front,
+if it can be managed. Can you put me somewhere out of sight?” Fenton
+asked; “if not----”
+
+“Your chair will be placed in the stage box,” Keene answered, softly;
+“no one shall bother you. Colin Carroll--you remember him?”
+
+“The writer? Yes; a very amusing fellow.”
+
+“He has married since you knew him--a charming little woman. I thought
+of asking them to take care of you; here they are.”
+
+“And Mr. Gascoigne!” cried Muriel. “Mr. Keene, you are inimitable.”
+
+“That is true,” laughed Fenton. “There is the call-boy, Francis.”
+
+The Carrolls came up, and the invalid’s chair was wheeled to the stage
+box.
+
+Mr. Gascoigne went off to his stall, for Keene would not run the risk
+of wearying Fenton by too many faces and conversation at first.
+
+The performance went off more brilliantly than ever.
+
+Muriel, conscious of the white, worn face watching hers and Keene’s
+every movement, listening to every word, and of her old friend straight
+in front of her in the stalls, was in a fever of excitement.
+
+Her eyes flashed and sparkled; in the mad scene she surpassed herself,
+her voice filling every corner of the vast theatre like the chime of
+silver bells, low but clear.
+
+Keene was superb, and the audience thundered such applause that he
+was bound to appear after each act again and again, Muriel also being
+called for with him.
+
+“You will be a great actress, my dear,” Lyon Fenton said to her
+afterwards. “Although you have had every possible advantage in going on
+with Keene, still an educated audience would not tolerate mediocrity
+even under such auspices. You have sympathy, you are _en rapport_
+with your part and with the people, and you are very beautiful. Go on
+working hard--Keene will never let you rest; and he is the greatest man
+of the time. You like him?”
+
+She coloured hotly under the swift, searching scrutiny.
+
+“My dear, you will not be offended with me--”
+
+She knelt down by the chair.
+
+They were alone; and the tears trembled on her eyelids.
+
+“You know that I can never repay a tenth part of your goodness to me,”
+she said, with deepest feeling. “All my life, Mr. Fenton, I shall pray
+that--even yet--you may be happy. Without your training I could have
+done nothing, and your introduction--”
+
+“No, no. That was all overshadowed by your meeting with Keene in the
+train. He loved you at first sight--I know all about it, my child.
+And yet there is a cloud between you. He is very attractive to
+women--surely you are not insensible to his affection and admiration?
+Tell me what is the matter. I am old enough to be your father, and,
+moreover, I have one foot in the grave and the other hovering on the
+brink. I believe that you do care for him with all your strength,” he
+added, putting one hand on her arm, gently, and lifting her face.
+
+“Yes,” she said, suddenly, “I do, Mr. Fenton. How could I help it? He
+was so kind, so thoughtful, so generous; and, when I found that he knew
+you so well, it was not like speaking to a stranger.”
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+“And so, sweetheart, you will not visit my father’s sin upon me? I
+hoped that Fenton would persuade you. Indeed,” laughing, and turning
+her face up to his, “I am strongly of opinion that he is first with
+you. I have got his promise that he will live with us; so that his last
+years will be happier than the past ten have been. And the child loves
+you. Are you pleased, my darling?”
+
+She put her arms round his neck, and, for the first time, laid her
+mouth on his with a long passionate kiss.
+
+If he had doubted the strength of her love before, he never did after
+that.
+
+“You are perfect, Francis. Quite perfect,” she said, gravely. “If you
+do not commit something mortal I shall be afraid of you.”
+
+
+NOTICE.--The next Complete Novelette Story, to be Given Away with No.
+676 of “SOMETHING TO READ” Journal, will be entitled:
+
+                          AT THE ALTAR RAILS.
+
+
+Printed by A. BRADLEY, at the London and County Works, Drury Lane,
+W.C.; and Published for the Proprietor, EDWIN J. BRETT, at 173, Fleet
+Street, E.C.--Feb. 13, 1894.
+
+
+
+
+Transcriber’s Notes:
+
+
+This story was published as a separate eight-page booklet distributed
+as a give-away with the journal _Something to Read_.
+
+Obvious typographical errors have been silently corrected.
+
+Illustrations have been moved nearer the appropriate points in the text.
+
+Table of contents has been added and placed into the public domain by
+the transcriber.
+
+
+
+*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 75340 ***
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+<div style='text-align:center'>*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 75340 ***</div>
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_1">[Pg 1]</span></p>
+
+
+
+<table class="fullwidth"><tr><td class="tdl"><i>GRATIS WITH</i>]</td><td class="tdr">[<i>SOMETHING TO READ.</i></td></tr></table>
+
+<figure class="figcenter illowp100" id="logo" style="max-width: 172.0625em;">
+  <img class="w100" src="images/logo.jpg" alt="SOMETHING TO READ NOVELETTE">
+</figure>
+
+<table class="fullwidth"><tr><td class="tdl">No. 675.]</td>
+<td class="tdc">
+CONTAINS A COMPLETE STORY AND PRESENTED GRATIS EVERY WEEK
+WITH THE JOURNAL “SOMETHING TO READ.”<br>
+EDITED BY EDWIN J. BRETT.
+</td><td class="tdr">[Vol. XXVII.</td></tr></table>
+
+<figure class="figcenter illowp100" id="i0" style="max-width: 178.1875em;">
+  <img class="w100" src="images/i0.jpg" alt="">
+  <figcaption class="caption">“IT IS A SORRY TALE FOR YOUNG EARS, MY CHILD,” SAID THE OLD LAWYER, TAKING HER HANDS IN HIS.</figcaption>
+</figure>
+
+<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop">
+
+<div class="chapter">
+<h1 class="nobreak" id="DESTINY">DESTINY.</h1>
+</div>
+
+<p class="center"><span class="smcap">By G. P. S.</span></p>
+
+
+<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop">
+
+<div class="chapter">
+<h2 class="nobreak" id="CONTENTS">CONTENTS</h2>
+</div>
+
+
+<p class="center">
+<a href="#CHAPTER_I">CHAPTER I.</a><br>
+<a href="#CHAPTER_II">CHAPTER II.</a><br>
+<a href="#CHAPTER_III">CHAPTER III.</a><br>
+<a href="#CHAPTER_IV">CHAPTER IV.</a><br>
+</p>
+
+
+<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop">
+
+<div class="chapter">
+<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_I">CHAPTER I.</h2>
+</div>
+
+
+<div class="blockquot">
+
+<p>“My dear Miss Standen,—Now that
+the arch-enemy of mankind (in
+reality he is often a friend) has
+deprived you of your—shall I
+say foster mother? it is time
+for me to say that I hope you will always
+regard me as a friend, who has known you
+from your earliest childhood. There are some
+events in your family history which a promise
+to the dead kept me from relating during
+Mrs. O’Hara’s lifetime. I will acquaint
+you with them fully in a few days. As a
+preliminary, Mrs. Gascoigne and myself will
+be delighted to have you with us while you
+decide about the future. The sooner the
+better. Shall we say to-day at your own time?
+A house of mourning is not a suitable place for
+a young girl who—although she may have
+experienced much kindness—is no way
+connected with the deceased. Forgive an old
+lawyer’s bluntness; you are too sensible, I am
+sure, to take offence at my home-truths (which
+are always disagreeable). Awaiting you and
+your luggage,</p>
+
+<p>
+“Believe me, my dear Miss Standen,</p>
+<p class="sig1">
+“Your sincere friend,</p>
+<p class="sig2">
+“<span class="smcap">Henry Morton Gascoigne</span>.”
+</p>
+</div>
+
+<p>It was impossible not to believe in the
+sincerity of the letter, and Muriel Standen
+read it a second time with a keen sense of
+gratitude for the writer.</p>
+
+<p>She had believed herself entirely alone in
+the world, penniless, and without a home.</p>
+
+<p>For, after the death of Mrs. O’Hara, she
+could no longer stay at the farm.</p>
+
+<p>Tom was to be married in a few weeks at his
+mother’s last request, and although she had
+mentioned Muriel’s name, apparently with the
+intention of adding something regarding her,
+death had intervened.</p>
+
+<p>Mrs. O’Hara died before the girl could
+ascertain any particulars of her early life.</p>
+
+<p>She answered Mr. Gascoigne’s letter, thankfully
+accepting his kind offer, and sent it by
+one of the farm-hands.</p>
+
+<p>Then she packed her two small trunks and
+said good-bye to sturdy Tom O’Hara, who said
+the farm would miss her sadly.</p>
+
+<p>“But it is not the place for a lady like you,
+Miss Standen. My mother was next door to
+being one, as you know, and even she detested
+farm life. It was better for you when she was
+here. Now you will go among your own
+people, I hope. I wish I could tell you who
+they are, but my mother kept her knowledge—if
+she had any—to herself.”</p>
+
+<p>“Thank you,” she said, sadly. “I do not
+know where I am going when I leave Mr.
+and Mrs. Gascoigne. I expect that I am
+quite alone in the world, otherwise my people
+could hardly have left me without any sign all
+these years.”</p>
+
+<p>“If it comes to that, Miss Standen,” and<span class="pagenum" id="Page_2">[Pg 2]</span>
+the big fellow strode hastily across the room
+to her, “the farm’s a home to you whenever
+you like to make use of it. Maggie’s a good
+girl, and she would feel honoured by your
+staying here.”</p>
+
+<p>“I thank you Tom most warmly,” giving
+him both her hands. “You are a kind hearted
+man, and I shall never forget your generosity.
+But I intend to go to London to make my living
+there.</p>
+
+<p>“I have made some enquiries, and my
+voice ought to do something for me. Mr.
+Gascoigne will always have my address, and
+he will give me news of you now and then.
+Good-bye, I must not keep your horse waiting
+any longer.”</p>
+
+<p>“I am going to drive you myself, Miss
+Standen, if you will allow me. It will be the
+last time.”</p>
+
+<hr class="tb">
+
+<p>“Well, well, my dear, there is no immediate
+hurry. You have scarcely been with us two
+days. As a matter of fact, Mrs. Gascoigne and
+myself would be only too glad if you could
+make up your mind to remain with us
+altogether, but I suppose you are tired of the
+country.”</p>
+
+<p>“You beggar me of gratitude,” she said,
+flushing. “I have not the slightest claim
+upon you and you treat me like a daughter—almost.”</p>
+
+<p>“I wish you were now that my own are so
+far away. Well, if you are determined to hear
+I must tell you, sit down in that arm-chair
+comfortably, and remember that a lawyer does
+not like to be interrupted. At the same time
+my dear, prepare yourself to hear some sad
+news.</p>
+
+<p>“Twenty years ago, your mother came to
+Abbott Mansfield with you, a little child just
+able to walk without falling.</p>
+
+<p>“She rented the cottage, known as the
+Laurels, which was then let furnished, and
+lived there for four years with a nurse for
+you and one other maid servant.</p>
+
+<p>“She dressed always in widow’s weeds, made
+no acquaintances whatever, and refused to see
+any people who from kindness or curiosity
+called upon her.</p>
+
+<p>“One day I received a note asking me to go
+to the Laurels.</p>
+
+<p>“I went, and found your mother dying.</p>
+
+<p>“The doctor said it was general weakness,
+want of vitality and nervous power, and had
+advised her to go to a warm climate some weeks
+before.</p>
+
+<p>“She told me it was a broken heart, my
+dear.”</p>
+
+<p>Muriel had grown white and her eyes were
+dark with suppressed tears.</p>
+
+<p>“You will find me brutally matter-of-fact.
+Do not think me devoid of sympathy. Cry as
+much as you like. Shall I go on?” after a few
+moments pause.</p>
+
+<p>“Yes, please.”</p>
+
+<p>“Mrs. Standen’s story was a sad one, but unfortunately,
+no new thing. She had married
+when very young, and, being a lovely attractive
+woman, as I saw by the miniature which is in
+your possession, had no lack of attention from
+her husband’s friends.</p>
+
+<p>“He was a major in the —th Hussars, a good
+officer and beloved by all who knew him. Unfortunately
+he trusted too much, and he trusted
+Captain Ainslie absolutely.</p>
+
+<p>“The two were the closest of friends, and
+even the marriage of Major Winstanley had not
+weakened their friendship.</p>
+
+<p>“Your father was a very striking-looking
+man, Miss Winstanley, I will show you a portrait
+of him when I have finished, a thoroughbred
+gentleman, nobility and integrity stamped
+on every feature; but the captain was handsome
+in the style admired by ladies—fair, with
+blue eyes, a long moustache, and, no doubt,
+golden hair.</p>
+
+<p>“Your father was passionately attached to
+your mother, and up to the time of your birth
+they were very happy.</p>
+
+<p>“He had a strong, stern nature, however,
+and in addition to his duties, which, of course,
+absorbed a good part of each day, he was fond
+of literary pursuits.</p>
+
+<p>“A man does not care the less for his wife,
+Miss Winstanley, because he does not keep up
+his honeymoon all his married life. Your
+mother did not say that she was neglected;
+but Captain Ainslie got into the habit of going
+to see her every day, when, nine times out of
+ten, she was alone.</p>
+
+<p>“He was the type of man who is found in
+ladies’ drawing-rooms at tea-times. Sometimes
+he took her out for drives or rides, the major
+trusted him entirely.</p>
+
+<p>“When you were about a year old, Major
+Winstanley was summoned to the death-bed of
+his father; as the journey to the North was
+long and fatiguing, he did not take his wife,
+for she was not strong and from the time of
+your birth had always been delicate. Four days
+later, when Major Winstanley returned—”</p>
+
+<p>The old lawyer stopped, the look on the girl’s
+face was so piteous to see.</p>
+
+<p>Her large grey eyes were wide and dark, the
+sweet mouth was quivering with feeling.</p>
+
+<p>He went up to her and took her hands in his
+kindly.</p>
+
+<p>“It is a sorry tale for young ears, my child,
+but I promised a dying woman to tell you, and
+to hide nothing. Cheer up a little, it ended
+better than could have been hoped. Captain
+Ainslie had gone off with his friend’s wife.
+But Major Winstanley was a modern Don
+Quixote; he traced them, followed them, and
+found his wife in a Paris hotel, sobbing with
+grief for her sin, the consciousness of which
+could not be effaced in spite of her companion’s
+attempts at consolation.</p>
+
+<p>“Her husband went up to her and said very
+quietly, ‘Marion, come home dear.’ To
+Captain Ainslie he uttered one reproach,
+‘What had I done to you to merit this?’ But
+his heart was broken. He took his wife home,
+and to the day of his death, which occurred a
+month afterwards, he showed her nothing but
+love and kindness.</p>
+
+<p>“When she was left a widow, Mrs. Winstanley
+found that a bank, in which most of
+her husband’s money was deposited, had failed—misfortunes
+never come singly—and so she
+was reduced to poverty. She thereupon sold
+her furniture, and came to Abbott Mansfield
+with her child, changing her name to that of
+Standen, for she wished to be forgotten by all
+who had formerly known her. As both she
+and her husband had few relations, and these
+but distant ones, her object was attained. She
+lived quite alone.</p>
+
+<p>“When she knew that her days were numbered,
+she sent for me and told me all the
+painful story, making me take it down in
+writing, to be handed to my executors in case
+of my death before you became of age.</p>
+
+<p>“By her wish I was to be her child’s
+guardian, to place her in the care of some
+trustworthy person, and, on her twenty-first
+birthday to acquaint her with the facts; also
+to hand over to her the sum of one thousand
+pounds, which was all that Mrs. Winstanley
+had to leave. The interest of this has been
+paid to Mrs. O’Hara for her care of you.</p>
+
+<p>“I need not tell you, my dear, that no other
+person has the slightest idea of your identity—or
+of this story. Here is the paper with
+your mother’s signature.”</p>
+
+<p>He handed her the document, which she
+took with trembling hands, looking at the
+shaking writing “Marion Orme Winstanley”
+with dim eyes.</p>
+
+<p>“There is nothing to prevent you from
+burning that here in my library, if you choose.
+In this box are your certificates of birth and
+baptism, with your mother’s marriage papers,
+so that your identity can easily be established
+with my help. What do you say, my dear?”</p>
+
+<p>“I will take your advice in everything,”
+Muriel said, faintly. “You have been so
+kind——”</p>
+
+<p>“Pish! my dear. Had it not been for the
+expense of having three sons and two
+daughters to educate, Mrs. Gascoigne and I
+would have taken you in here. They are all
+out in the world now, and there is nothing to
+prevent your making this your home, if you
+would like it.”</p>
+
+<p>“There is no question of liking, dear Mr.
+Gascoigne; I could not be such a burden to
+you. I have thought of using my voice——”</p>
+
+<p>“As a singer? You will require at least a
+year’s more training. Although Mr. Oateson
+has given you invaluable help, he has not been
+in London for years, and the competition is so
+great that you would stand little chance at
+present, free as your voice is; and then, it will
+be very uphill work, my child.”</p>
+
+<p>The old lawyer watched the girl as she
+looked into the fire, her pale, delicately-cut
+profile standing out against the dark marble
+background of the mantel-piece.</p>
+
+<p>“As a child, you played with the boys, and
+with them you were a general favourite. You
+liked them all?”</p>
+
+<p>“Ah! how could I help it?” she said, impulsively.
+“And Kitty and Madge were so
+sweet with me; they were my only friends, for
+I felt instinctively that Mrs. Erskine did not
+wish me to go to the Rectory, and so I kept
+aloof from Ethel and Dick.”</p>
+
+<p>“If they were not so scattered about the
+world, Kitty and Madge would have had you
+to visit them; but India and Canada are so
+far off. Reginald is coming here for a few
+weeks before he goes to Melbourne to join his
+brother. You know that Robert is married
+out there?”</p>
+
+<p>“Yes. I hope he is as happy as Henry is
+with his wife.”</p>
+
+<p>“I believe they are much attached to one
+another. Two years ago, when Reginald came
+back from Oxford, he told me of something
+which may, or may not, be news to you.”</p>
+
+<p>“To me?” the girl repeated, meeting old Mr.
+Gascoigne’s keen scrutiny with amazement.</p>
+
+<p>“Yes; he told me that, subject to my approval,
+he would, when he was in a suitable
+position, ask you to be his wife. Have you
+never suspected this?”</p>
+
+<p>She stood up, staring in silent astonishment.</p>
+
+<p>“Never. I—can hardly believe it. Reginald!
+We have seen so little of each other—he has
+been so much away at his uncle’s.”</p>
+
+<p>“That is the very reason why he was struck
+so much with your beauty and fascination, my
+dear; the others, growing up with you, had
+become accustomed to both. Well—is Reginald’s
+feeling for you reciprocated?”</p>
+
+<p>The girl went up to him, and laid one hand—a
+little timidly—on his arm.</p>
+
+<p>“Do I understand that—you would sanction
+it, knowing—who I am?”</p>
+
+<p>“With the greatest pleasure, my child,”
+returned the old lawyer, smiling. “Your
+father was a major in a crack regiment, and the
+daughter of such a man as Major Winstanley
+is a prize for any man. Tut—tut! my dear,” as
+she stammered out her mother’s name, “we
+are none of us perfect. If she sinned, poor
+woman, she expiated her sin.”</p>
+
+<p>She stooped and kissed his hand, then drew
+herself upright, and brushed the tears from
+her eyes.</p>
+
+<p>“You are the noblest man I have ever
+known. I shall never forget your generosity—your
+goodness to one who would be treated
+with scorn and contumely by all who knew
+her story. With all my heart I thank you and
+Reginald. Please tell him and that I
+appreciate the honour he does me to the
+uttermost, but dear Mr. Gascoigne—I—” she
+flushed scarlet, and raised her face appealingly
+to his; “I—have never thought of him in that
+way, only as a friend. And now that I know
+who I am,” gathering strength as she went on,
+“I shall never marry. You will understand
+me, will you not? I must go right away—to
+London, and earn my own living where no one
+knows me. Mary Allen, who used to be at the
+farm, is married respectably to an ex-butler,
+and they let lodgings near Russell Square. I
+can go there, can I not? Please do not be
+angry with me, Mr. Gascoigne.”</p>
+
+<p>“I am not angry, my dear. Think it all over
+at your leisure, there is no hurry whatever for
+a few days. Reginald will not be here for a
+fortnight. Your money is so well invested
+that it has increased to fifteen hundred pounds,
+but that only means about seventy pounds a
+year, and the lessons will be a consideration.
+That, my dear, will be my affair; as your
+guardian I insist upon it, and you will not
+refuse me. And what about that paper?”</p>
+
+<p>“I will burn it,” said Muriel, putting it into
+the fire when she had again thanked him.
+“And when I am successful you will let me
+pay off my debt, please?” smiling sadly. “If
+I am a failure——”</p>
+
+<p>“Never despair—you have youth, beauty,
+and talent; and you have a home here whenever
+you like to come. By the bye, here is your
+father’s portrait. His face is a very fine one.”</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_3">[Pg 3]</span></p>
+
+<p>She took it eagerly, and after a long scrutiny
+kissed it passionately again and again.</p>
+
+<p>“Captain Ainslie must have been a traitor of
+the deepest dye to wrong such a friend as my
+father—and he escaped scot-free,” she said, in
+tones of concentrated scorn and contempt.
+“No doubt he is living in happiness and
+luxury, reckless of the misery he caused.”</p>
+
+<p>“He may have really loved your mother.
+For five years he led a wandering life. Of
+course he left the regiment, loathed by everyone
+in it. Then he married, and settled down
+in the West Indies. I ascertained this myself;
+but I do not know now whether he is living
+or dead.”</p>
+
+
+<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop">
+
+<div class="chapter">
+<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_II">CHAPTER II.</h2>
+</div>
+
+
+<p>A railway train is sometimes the scene of
+much misery in those who travel by its carriages;
+sometimes of much mirth, most often of
+the assumed indifference adopted by English
+people as a rule, and which, despite the contempt
+with which it is spoken of by dwellers
+on the Continent, is also the theme of admiration
+to chatterers.</p>
+
+<p>Two people occupying a first class carriage,
+of congenial sympathies, can often while away
+the tedium of several hours. If their sympathies
+are opposed, they will of course entertain
+mutual distrust and dislike.</p>
+
+<p>When they are of opposite sexes, and
+experienced enough to judge of character
+impartially, friendships are often formed
+which endure for a lifetime.</p>
+
+<p>“I owe you many thanks for the pleasure
+you have permitted me to enjoy. I looked forward
+to a wearisome journey only, but you
+have accepted my society, and made me your
+debtor as well.”</p>
+
+<p>“I could not help myself, you see,” smiling.</p>
+
+<p>“But you might have frozen me up in the
+true British style, and then I should have had
+to wait in helpless misery for the first stopping-place.
+You looked very annoyed when I got
+in at Swindon.”</p>
+
+<p>“I am sorry; but the guard was fee’d to let
+me be alone if possible. Perhaps the desire of
+wanting to hide yourself, to get away even
+from one’s best friends, is happily strange to
+you.”</p>
+
+<p>He was silent for a little, not looking at
+her.</p>
+
+<p>Had anyone told Muriel that she would be
+holding a conversation with a perfect stranger
+less than an hour after she had started, she
+would have repudiated the imputation with
+scorn.</p>
+
+<p>Her nature was a very proud and reticent
+one, she was not given to sudden confidences.</p>
+
+<p>But there was in her as in all natural
+women—a hidden spring of impulse, and on
+meeting a nature sympathetic with her own,
+she almost unconsciously broke down her
+guard, with the result that she and her
+companion were talking as naturally as if
+they had known each other for years.</p>
+
+<p>“May I hope that you will forgive my presumption
+in expressing sympathy? You are
+so young to experience suffering.”</p>
+
+<p>“I am twenty-one in years, but I feel quite
+old,” she said, quietly. “I am going to London
+to make my fortune—or to fail.”</p>
+
+<p>“You have resolution enough to succeed,
+but a woman has many difficulties to encounter.
+And you aren’t of the calibre to be a
+governess.”</p>
+
+<p>“Never.” She shuddered a little. “I
+possess no certificates.”</p>
+
+<p>“Had you a dozen, your face and air would
+debar you,” he said, with quiet courtesy.
+“May one ask which of the professions you
+are wishing to enter? I know a great many
+people, and perhaps you may allow me the
+pleasure of being of some service to you.”</p>
+
+<p>“I thank you very much, but I am thinking
+of the stage.”</p>
+
+<p>He started, and looked at her for a moment
+or two, at which she laughed, and drew farther
+into her corner.</p>
+
+<p>“Your offer of introduction had better be
+withdrawn. You did not expect to hear
+that.”</p>
+
+<p>“You are right. I did not expect to hear
+that,” he repeated.</p>
+
+<p>“You think that it is a pity I have chosen
+this—career?”</p>
+
+<p>“It is fraught with many dangers, particularly
+for one gently born and brought up with
+luxury.”</p>
+
+<p>“My father and my mother were; but I lost
+them both in earliest childhood, and all my life
+has been passed in a farmhouse amid middle-class
+poverty.”</p>
+
+<p>“But your friends? Pardon me if I am impertinent;
+I do not mean to be.”</p>
+
+<p>“I know that you do not,” she said, simply.
+“My mother had changed her name, so that
+no one knew me. The lawyer of the place
+was appointed my guardian; he and his wife
+were very kind to me, even when—” She
+paused, then went on again. “I was a great
+deal with them and their family, in fact, we
+grew up together. They are all in the world
+now, most of them married. The girls live
+abroad, too far for me to visit them.”</p>
+
+<p>“Have you made up your mind to become
+an actress?”</p>
+
+<p>“It is the only thing I am fit for. I can
+sing a little; the organist at Idleminster
+Cathedral was a good musician, and he trained
+my voice. I used to sing the solo in the
+anthems and oratorios on special occasions—hidden
+behind a screen, of course. And I have
+had lessons in elocution and declamation from
+an actor. He knew Shakespeare and most of
+the French and English dramatists by heart. I
+used to listen to him for hours.”</p>
+
+<p>“What was his name?”</p>
+
+<p>“Gray Leighton.”</p>
+
+<p>He started violently with excitement.</p>
+
+<p>“Gray Leighton. You knew him well. I
+have been trying to find him for four years.
+You are fortunate to have had lessons from
+one of the most gifted actors of the day. Did
+you know his history?”</p>
+
+<p>“No. He was crippled, and could not stand
+for more than a few minutes at a time. He
+came to Idleminster about four years ago, and
+lived very quietly, making no friends nor ever
+reciting in public. I got to know him through
+his little boy. The child was very lovely. I
+used to play with him, teach him music, and
+take him out. His father would always trust
+Bertie with me.”</p>
+
+<p>Watching her lovely face, with its look of
+sweet girl-woman’s sympathy in the deep clear
+eyes, the man thought it was matter for small
+wonder that a father had trusted her with his
+only child.</p>
+
+<p>“Different versions of his story will reach
+your ears in London, so it is as well that you
+should know the truth. Leighton’s professional
+name was Lyon Fenton. His mother was an
+Italian, and he inherited her southern nature.
+As an actor, it is hardly too extravagant to
+say that he took the world by storm. Paris,
+Florence, Milan, and Vienna idolised him. He
+was five-and-thirty when he came to London,
+and there his slight foreign accent was the
+only impediment to his success. His Romeo,
+Othello, Shylock, and Hamlet were the constant
+theme among critics, who almost to a
+man praised him. But he did not like London
+and left it after the second year for Italy. On
+the eve of his marriage with a beautiful young
+actress who played Juliette to his Romeo, his
+<i>fiancée</i> eloped with his best friend.”</p>
+
+<p>Muriel was listening with breathless attention,
+her eyes full of indignation at his last
+sentence.</p>
+
+<p>“What horrible treachery!”</p>
+
+<p>“Unfortunately no new thing. The girl
+was duped into believing some base fabrications
+about Fenton, and impetuously went off
+with the man who considered nothing so long
+as he attained his object. Fenton followed
+them, and a duel was fought, in which he was
+unfortunately wounded in the hip. His
+adversary escaped, for Fenton generously fired
+in the air rather than injure the man who had
+married the girl he himself loved.</p>
+
+<p>“Here you have the man’s character—erratic,
+quixotic, impetuous, but noble to the
+core.</p>
+
+<p>“When the girl discovered her husband’s
+treachery she poisoned him and herself, leaving
+a letter for Fenton, entreating his forgiveness.
+The child Bertie is theirs.”</p>
+
+<p>Muriel drew a long breath, unconscious that
+tears were trembling on her eyelashes.</p>
+
+<p>“Oh!” she said with feeling, “what a
+tragedy, and all occasioned by a man’s perfidy.
+The world has lost a great actor, whose
+whole life is spoiled. Then Mr. Leighton is not
+Bertie’s father?”</p>
+
+<p>“He has never married; the man’s
+nature is not one to change. He must
+be about five-and-forty now. I knew all
+this, as I was a personal friend of Fenton,
+for whom I had the greatest admiration.
+But when his injury necessitated his leaving
+the stage, he disappeared, and none of his
+former friends nor acquaintances ever heard
+of him. Knowing his sensitive nature, I
+understood, and did not try to find his whereabouts.
+From time to time he sent me tidings,
+but it is quite four years since I heard anything.”</p>
+
+<p>“How strange it is that we should both
+know him,” Muriel said, reflectively.</p>
+
+<p>“Very. I can understand your desire for
+the dramatic profession if you have been under
+the spell of Leighton’s influence. He gave you
+lessons, you said?”</p>
+
+<p>“Three times a week for the last two years
+and a half. I thought it wisest to prepare
+myself as much as possible; but I did not like
+to tell Mr. Gascoigne, the lawyer, that I was
+thinking of the stage. He knows that I can
+sing a little, and that I am wanting to come
+out by-and-bye.”</p>
+
+<p>“It is but a step from the vocal to the
+dramatic stage,” he said, smiling a little.
+Then, very gravely: “I have lived so many
+years longer in the world than you, that you
+will possibly permit me to give you my opinion.
+For one absolutely alone in the world, as you
+are, of gentle birth, you will be cruelly exposed
+to fearful dangers, from which it will be
+next to impossible to escape.”</p>
+
+<p>“But I am not so very young,” she said wistfully
+“and the Gascoignes will never lose sight
+of me, I think. I am going to live in Bloomsbury,
+with a very respectable woman and her
+husband who let lodgings, and I should pay
+her to accompany me to the theatre. She
+used to be one of the maids at the farm.</p>
+
+<p>“What other can I do? I have about £70 a
+year of my own, which will just keep me from
+starving; barely that in London, but I detest
+the country. I cannot be a governess, nor
+serve in a shop. Mr. Leighton has given me
+two letters of introduction to the managers of
+the ‘Coliseum,’ and ‘Opera Comique.’”</p>
+
+<p>“So, then he has a very high opinion of your
+powers or you would not have obtained those
+introductions.”</p>
+
+<p>“To the two best theatres, owning the most
+critical of managers? But I would rather be
+condemned by them than praised by the inferior
+ones. Mr. Gascoigne has promised to
+come up and see me in three or four weeks, and
+I am to go down there for Easter. I suppose
+he thinks that I shall fail.”</p>
+
+<p>They were nearing Charing Cross by this,
+and Muriel looked out at the densely packed
+houses.</p>
+
+<p>“Is this your first visit to town?”</p>
+
+<p>“Yes,” she said, wondering whether he would
+tell her what his name was, or whether they
+would never meet again.</p>
+
+<p>“In a very short time we shall have arrived,”
+he said quickly. “You will permit me to say
+that I hope we shall meet as friends? Here
+is my card. Please do not look at it now—I
+have a reason,” meeting her look of inquiry
+with a smile as he handed her the little slip of
+cardboard to her. “If you will grant me permission
+I will send you seats for the ‘Coliseum’
+to-morrow, as I—know the manager, Mr. Harbury,
+and so it is nothing. You will like to
+see <i>Hamlet</i>?”</p>
+
+<p>“Very much indeed. I have the greatest
+longing to see Francis Keene, and to compare
+him with Mr. Leighton.”</p>
+
+<p>“He will not bear the comparison,” her
+companion smiled. “You would not, I
+suppose, entertain the idea of acting as secretary
+to a literary man?” he said presently.
+“And possibly writing his wife’s letters as
+well? I have a friend who is wanting a lady
+in that capacity, and I think you would suit
+him admirably, that is, if I am not too impertinent?”</p>
+
+<p>“Oh! no; you are very kind to think of
+me. How you must dislike the stage,” laughing
+a little, “to endeavour to persuade even a
+stranger to leave it alone.”</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_4">[Pg 4]</span></p>
+
+<p>He turned to her and held out his hand.</p>
+
+<p>“It is because I no longer think of you as a
+stranger, Miss——”</p>
+
+<p>“Winstanley,” putting her hand into his.</p>
+
+<p>“Thank you. I will give you the address of
+my friend, so that if you should care to see
+him you might write in a day or two; in any
+case, he would be a good person for you to
+know. May I mention your name? His wife
+gives ‘At Homes’ every Saturday, and you
+would meet many professionals there. Here is
+the address.”</p>
+
+<p>“Meanwhile I am not to know of whom I
+am to think as a true friend.”</p>
+
+<p>“Until the day after to-morrow,” smiling;
+“that is if you think your landlady will
+accompany you to the theatre. I imagine you
+see that you have no one else at present,
+though that will not be for long.”</p>
+
+<p>“Mrs. Armstrong will look rather strange—”</p>
+
+<p>“She will not be noticed much in a box.
+Here we are. What a pleasant journey it has
+been. Shall I get you a
+cab?”</p>
+
+<p>And as Muriel found
+herself driving to Charlotte
+Street in a hansom
+she thought that if all her
+days in London were only
+half as pleasant as this
+had proved, she would
+never have cause to regret
+leaving Abbot Mansfield.</p>
+
+<hr class="tb">
+
+<p>The “Coliseum” was
+crowded as usual.</p>
+
+<p>Nine months in the
+year the cultivated and
+impassioned acting of
+Francis Keene drew rapt
+admiration from packed
+audiences, who listened to
+every syllable that fell
+from his firm mouth.</p>
+
+<p>As lessee, stage-manager,
+and principal actor,
+he had his hands full,
+and his genius for staging
+a play from Shakespeare
+downwards was known
+throughout Europe.</p>
+
+<p>Critics could find no
+flaw in this, though they
+occasionally differed about
+his rendering of a part.</p>
+
+<p>His tall, well-proportioned
+figure moved easily
+on the stage, and the
+clearly-cut features and
+musical, perfectly-trained
+voice were especially fitted
+for picturesque <i>rôles</i>, although
+Keene was too
+true an actor to adhere
+to them.</p>
+
+<p>His Shylock was as fine
+as his Romeo, and King
+Lear as Benedict, Othello
+as Iago.</p>
+
+<p>Down in rural little
+Abbot Mansfield his name
+of course was known, but
+as he was particularly
+averse to being interviewed and would not
+allow his photographs to be exhibited in any
+shop or photographer’s window, his face was
+totally unfamiliar to Muriel Winstanley.</p>
+
+<p>Even Gray Leighton had no portrait
+amongst his large collection of celebrated
+members of the profession.</p>
+
+<p>Her delight at being about to witness the
+finest play of the greatest dramatist the
+world has ever produced, and of seeing the
+great actor in his favourite part—many pronouncing
+him to be absolutely unrivalled in
+it—was so intense that she was strung up to
+the greatest pitch of excitement.</p>
+
+<p>Mrs. Armstrong had been with her husband
+in the pit she told Muriel, and in her own
+language, “he looked that beautiful, miss, but
+so sad as made me quite miserable, I did want
+him to ’ave ’ad the poor young lady all comf’table
+at the end, and she so pretty, but it
+goes contrary all through.”</p>
+
+<p>Muriel’s black evening gown would not
+attract much, if any, attention she hoped in
+their box on the second tier, and Mrs. Armstrong
+was, as she expressed it frequently,
+that flustered at being for the first time
+in such an exalted position, that she kept
+well backward from observation in the intervals
+between the acts.</p>
+
+<p>It was a grand performance.</p>
+
+<p>Keene’s theory was that <i>Hamlet</i> was a man
+about thirty years of age.</p>
+
+<p>His eccentricity and madness merely assumed
+of course, and in the scene with Ophelia, his</p>
+
+<p class="center">
+“Get thee to a nunnery, go,”<br>
+</p>
+
+<p>was uttered with regretful longing rather than
+peremptory harshness, great love for her was
+revealed beneath the stern language, and his
+last wild embrace was full of a man’s passionate
+agony in parting from all that made life
+worth living to him.</p>
+
+<p>The girl sat as one entranced, drinking in
+every word, not letting a single gesture escape
+her keen scrutiny.</p>
+
+<p>Her eyes flashed responsively, her breath
+came in gasps, she was deaf and blind to her
+surroundings.</p>
+
+<p>Once or twice Keene himself glanced up at
+the beautiful sympathetic face, and his own
+eyes glowed with quiet triumph.</p>
+
+
+<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop">
+
+<div class="chapter">
+<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_III">CHAPTER III.</h2>
+</div>
+
+
+<p>“My dear, Mr. Keene was perfectly right to
+advise you as he did. A man of the world’s
+advice may always be taken in matters of this
+sort; and a girl who lives alone is always open
+to criticism, you know, even if she have no
+relations.”</p>
+
+<p>“I am singularly fortunate in my friends,”
+the girl said, with a bright smile. “Mr. Gascoigne
+says I was born under a lucky star.”</p>
+
+<p>“In meeting Mr. Keene you were undoubtedly,”
+Mrs. Carroll said, with a swift
+look at the tall, graceful figure bending over
+the escretoire; “but if you knew how many
+failures Mr. Carroll and I have had in trying
+to get a lady secretary, you would say that we
+were the lucky people. There seemed to be no
+chance of finding what we wanted. If a girl
+were clever, she was vulgar or self-assertive;
+if lady-like, utterly stupid, or worse still,”—laughing—“weak
+and incapable of holding an
+opinion. Perhaps the most objectionable type
+was the girl of the period—masculine, irrepressible,
+and in fact——”</p>
+
+<p>“Full of bounce,” added Mr. Carroll,
+laughing and looking up from the <i>Times</i>;
+“like Miss Morton, who dictated to me instead
+of taking down my ideas. I assure you, Miss
+Winstanley, that she argued about every
+chapter in ‘Young Calderon’s Career,’ until I
+suggested that she should write a novel herself
+and leave me to my own little sphere.”</p>
+
+<p>“I wish that I knew shorthand,” Muriel
+said, presently, getting paper and pens ready;
+“it would be so much quicker for you.”</p>
+
+<p>“But it entails re-writing into longhand,
+whereas you get my MSS.
+all ready for the printers.
+No, I prefer this way; you
+are the quickest longhand
+writer I have ever known.
+I am only afraid that just
+when you get into my
+ways and ‘fads’ you will
+blossom into a Mrs. Siddons,
+and I shall be in
+misery again.”</p>
+
+<p>The girl laughed.</p>
+
+<p>“Mr. Keene is too severe
+a critic, and since he has
+so very kindly undertaken
+to bring me out, he will
+not let me do anything in
+a hurry. It will be months
+yet, I expect.”</p>
+
+<p>“Humph! I hope it
+will,” muttered the novelist.
+“My dear,” to his
+wife, “have you any letters
+for Miss Winstanley
+this morning, because the
+sooner I can begin the
+better.”</p>
+
+<p>“Only a few more invitations
+for my ‘At Home’
+on the 25th,” said Mrs.
+Carroll; “here is the list.
+And a line to Lady Hetherington
+to say that I expect
+her and all her party.
+I wish she were more
+æsthetic in her tastes—her
+friends are so often
+objectionable; but it cannot
+be helped.”</p>
+
+<p>Muriel wrote the letter
+and the invitations rapidly
+in her clear, somewhat
+eccentric, handwriting,
+then handed them to Mrs.
+Carroll, who passed into
+the adjoining room, which
+was only separated by
+gracefully-draped curtains,
+for the novelist and
+his wife were original
+enough to care for one
+another after ten years of
+married life, and Mr. Carroll liked to have his
+dainty little wife always in view whilst he was
+dictating, and even composing.</p>
+
+<p>Her morning-room and his library were thus
+in juxtaposition, and as he walked up and
+down, with his notes or MSS. in his hand,
+smoking an eternal cigarette or cigar, he would
+catch a gleam of her golden hair, as she sat
+surrounded by a pretty mass of crewel silks
+and broideries.</p>
+
+<p>Muriel got an hour or more before ten
+o’clock a.m. for study, and after two o’clock
+she was free, Mrs. Carroll only asking her to
+accompany her in her drives and calls as a
+friendly request, to be refused or accepted at
+will.</p>
+
+<p>She would drive her down to the “Coliseum”
+when Mr. Keene had wished her to witness a
+rehearsal; and in the evenings there were
+always stalls or a box for one of the theatres,
+for Muriel was to see and hear everything by
+way of gaining experience.</p>
+
+<p>She herself did not know what Mr. Keene<span class="pagenum" id="Page_5">[Pg 5]</span>
+had informed the Carrolls, who were his
+greatest friends.</p>
+
+<p>That Gray Leighton had so carefully trained
+her in voice, gesture, manner, expression,
+having the most responsive ground to work
+upon, she was so well drilled in Shakespeare,
+Sheridan, Molière, Racine—in fact, in the
+brilliant actor’s splendid <i>repertoire</i>—that
+personal experience was the one thing lacking
+to develop her splendid powers.</p>
+
+<p>She knew now that Keene and Leighton had
+been friends united by the closest sympathy.</p>
+
+<p>The older man lacked the younger’s sustaining
+power, which at five-and-twenty—his age
+when Leighton left England—was not at its
+full zenith of course.</p>
+
+<p>Leighton had at once perceived his young
+rival’s strength, and knew that his own fame
+would never be so lasting.</p>
+
+<p>The critics had condemned a too great enthusiasm
+in him, alleging that his excitable
+nature led him to expend himself too soon in
+a play; that, in consequence, his <i>finale</i> was apt
+to be lacking in the interest felt by his
+audience in the early part of the evening.</p>
+
+<p>Keene had felt the greatest admiration, however,
+for him, and
+he had spoken to
+Muriel as he had
+thought from the
+first, his own modesty
+underrating
+his own capabilities.</p>
+
+<p>As a manager
+he knew that he
+himself had no
+living equal.</p>
+
+<p>Sparing no pains,
+care, nor expense,
+he searched the
+world’s most remote
+corners for
+unique talent and
+<i>objets d’art</i>, so
+that he never incurred
+the mortification
+of reading
+that his productions
+were
+“one-act plays.”</p>
+
+<p>All the minor
+<i>rôles</i> were as carefully
+rehearsed as
+his own, and the
+actors in his cast,
+even the very servants,
+received the
+most tempting
+offers and larger
+salaries than were
+usually paid—by
+outside men as inducement
+to leave
+the “Coliseum.”</p>
+
+<p>“Are you ready,
+Miss Winstanley?”
+asked the
+novelist, as Mrs.
+Carroll left the
+room. “I don’t mind if you stop me twenty
+times; but for Heaven’s sake don’t go on too
+fast and get muddled. I have only notes here,
+you know. Where did we leave off?”</p>
+
+<p>“The twins want to go to the theatre—the
+Gaiety,” said Muriel, in tones of suppressed
+laughter, as she read what she had written.
+“‘Let’s pit it to-night,’ whispered Henry.
+‘Ma’s in the humour to fork out, as the
+lodgers have paid up.’”</p>
+
+<p>“Got that? All right then,” and Mr. Carroll
+began striding up and down, puffing out
+smoke, and looking at his notes.</p>
+
+<p>“‘How much are you worth?’ asked
+Henrietta. ‘I’m stumped.’</p>
+
+<p>“‘Two bob. But I shall make her give us
+five, and we can go on the top of a ’bus. You
+go and eat some sandwiches, and I’ll tackle
+her now. She can have a flirtation with the
+major all the evening.’</p>
+
+<p>“‘Poor wretch, I pity him!’ said Henrietta.
+‘Ma will talk about her poor husband until
+he’ll wish himself out of it. I do want to see
+the serpentine dance. It’s lovely.’</p>
+
+<p>“‘You’ll be trying to do it with a table-cloth,
+to-morrow,’ sneered Henry. ‘You’re
+mad on dancing.’</p>
+
+<p>“‘I’d rather be mad on dancing than on
+lodgers,’ Henrietta answered, epigrammatically,
+bouncing out of the room. ‘You get the
+cash,’ she called as a parting shot.”</p>
+
+<p>“What are you laughing at!” Mr. Carroll
+asked, in surprise. “Do you find it amusing?
+It is very vulgar, of course; but I assure you,
+no exaggeration.”</p>
+
+<p>“It is very wonderful to me,” Muriel said,
+taking a fresh sheet of paper, “that you can
+philosophise so deeply when you please, and
+then put in a chapter like this—the variety
+is unique.”</p>
+
+<p>“The publishers tell me that it is what the
+public like. Life is not all beer and skittles,
+you know, and yet if it were, we should very
+soon tire of them. There were two little
+brutes who talked just like that in a place
+where I stayed once in my young days.
+‘Chapter thirty-four. The howl of the pessimist
+is one of the signs of the times, one that
+cannot be checked too strongly, for it is the
+outcome of a discontent fatal to any great
+achievement, and as false as it is hurtful.’”</p>
+
+<p>A dissertation on pessimism followed, and
+quotations from so many classical authors of
+olden and modern time as showed that the
+author knew his subject thoroughly, and was
+a man of no mean understanding.</p>
+
+<hr class="tb">
+
+<p>Mrs. Carroll’s “At Home” promised to be a
+very brilliant affair.</p>
+
+<p>There were two ambassadors coming, the
+latest social “lion,” and the most brilliant
+members of the legal, literary and dramatic
+professions.</p>
+
+<p>Mrs. Carroll had asked Muriel to go with
+her to Madame Irène’s about ten days beforehand,
+for she said she always felt more comfortable
+if she put on her gown before a friend
+whose judgment she could rely upon.</p>
+
+<p>All innocently Muriel assented, and expressed
+genuine admiration when the dainty
+little woman had herself arrayed in soft, thick
+brocade of the colours of almond blossom
+and delicate green leaves, with some real old
+lace on the bodice.</p>
+
+<p>“It doesn’t make me look too old? My husband
+likes handsome materials,” she said,
+anxiously.</p>
+
+<p>“<i>Mais</i>, madame is <i>superbe</i>,” the Frenchwoman
+said, clasping her hands.</p>
+
+<p>“It suits you perfectly, Mrs. Carroll. Everyone
+wears brocade now, and you will never
+look old,” Muriel said, smiling.</p>
+
+<p>Mrs. Carroll gave a sigh of relief, and
+then turned to inspect some white silks that
+were hanging over chairs.</p>
+
+<p>“Do you like this, Muriel?” she said, touching
+one of the thickest.</p>
+
+<p>“It would suit mademoiselle,” said Madame
+Irène, looking at the delicate complexion and
+the waves of deep gold hair.</p>
+
+<p>Muriel shook her head.</p>
+
+<p>“I am in mourning—”</p>
+
+<p>“But you will look sweet in white,” said
+Mrs. Carroll. “You must have a new gown
+too. Madame, can you make one in time?”</p>
+
+<p>And, in spite of the girl’s look of entreaty,
+the little woman carried her point, laughingly
+telling her as they drove home that
+she had arranged it beforehand with her husband.</p>
+
+<p>“We wanted you to look your best, and
+white is so becoming for girls. Old married
+people can do anything, you know,” she
+added, with a bewitching little smile that
+went to Muriel’s heart as she tried to thank
+her.</p>
+
+<p>Very lovely she
+looked on the
+night in the long
+straight folds of
+the perfectly-fitting
+gown, with
+some white moss-rose
+buds fastened
+at her breast.</p>
+
+<p>They had been
+sent to her anonymously,
+and she
+thought it was
+merely another
+of Mrs. Carroll’s
+many kindnesses.</p>
+
+<p>She could not
+resist the pleasure
+of wearing them,
+although she discovered
+her mistake
+when she
+made her appearance
+in the drawing-room.</p>
+
+<p>As soon as the
+rooms began filling,
+music, songs,
+and recitations
+succeeded each
+other, there being
+so many professionals
+present
+that there was no
+danger of <i>ennui</i>.</p>
+
+<p>Muriel played
+and sang, Signor
+Losti, the great
+master, taking a
+great fancy to her
+voice, and, finding
+that she knew
+Gray Leighton,
+striking up a friendship on the spot.</p>
+
+<p>Mr. Keene came on from the “Coliseum,” and,
+heedless of fatigue, took his part amongst the
+performers with the winning courtesy so often
+seen in great <i>artistes</i>.</p>
+
+<p>He said little to Muriel, seeing that she was
+surrounded by a circle of admirers, until late
+in the evening, when Mrs. Carroll approached
+him and asked with a smile if he would give
+them one more delight.</p>
+
+<p>He smiled and went up to Muriel.</p>
+
+<p>“Miss Winstanley, are you tired?”</p>
+
+<p>“No,” she smiled, rising instantly, wondering
+a little at his question.</p>
+
+<p>“I want you to recite with me.”</p>
+
+<p>“I?” starting back and turning white;
+“Mr. Keene—you are cruel!”</p>
+
+<p>“No,” he returned kindly, “I am quite sure
+that you can if you will. You will not be
+nervous?”</p>
+
+<p>“Horribly—I—perhaps by myself I could,
+but with the greatest actor of the day, it would
+be such a terrible ordeal—”</p>
+
+<p>“No worse than with Gray Leighton. Come
+and rehearse with me.”</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_6">[Pg 6]</span></p>
+
+<p>Trembling, she placed her one hand on his arm
+and he led her through the conservatory,
+across the hall, into the library.</p>
+
+<p>“Do not be so frightened, child. You are
+positively shaking,” he said, putting one hand
+on her shoulder. “Imagine that you are in
+Leighton’s library in Idleminster and that I am
+he. You know Beatrice’s lines in <i>Much Ado</i>?
+Yes, I am sure of your memory. Take me up
+in the Church Scene, Act IV. <i>Exeunt</i> Friar,
+Hero and Leonato. Beatrice and Benedict are
+alone.”</p>
+
+<p>He went back a few steps to give her
+time to pull herself together, then approached
+her with:</p>
+
+<p>“‘Lady Beatrice, have you wept all this
+while?’”</p>
+
+<p>For one instant only she hesitated, the
+remembrance of the scene with its dawning of
+passion under cover of the exquisite badinage
+sending a flood of colour to her face.</p>
+
+<p>Then she gave her answer—</p>
+
+<p>“‘Yea, and I will weep awhile longer,’”
+with trembling excitement, giving the sound
+of indignant tears in the rich but wondrously
+sweet tone, trained to perfection by Gray
+Leighton’s sensitive ear.</p>
+
+<p>The scene went on to its end without a
+break.</p>
+
+<p>Keene, knowing the passionate nature
+of the girl woman, letting himself reveal the
+great love of Benedict despite the laughing
+nature, and the torrent of light jest that rolls
+from his lips.</p>
+
+<p>She rose to it, keeping well under control
+even when with the confession of her love
+almost unconsciously forced from her:</p>
+
+<p>“‘I love you with so much of my heart, that
+none is left to protest.’”</p>
+
+<p>He caught her to his heart, kissing her hair
+as he murmured passionately—“Come, bid me
+do anything for thee.”</p>
+
+<p>She paled, but laughed as he released her,
+with sweetest witchery pelting him with taunts
+until he protests:</p>
+
+<p>“‘By this hand, Claudio shall render me a
+dear account,’” and the scene ends.</p>
+
+<p>She stood perfectly still, then swayed a
+moment, falling on a chair as he went
+forward.</p>
+
+<p>Seeing the severe tension to which her nerves
+were pitched, he left her again, quietly looking
+over some books, but watching her covertly,
+knowing she would not faint now.</p>
+
+<p>And in a few minutes she drew a deep breath
+and got to her feet again, going to him, her
+eyes asking the question her lips could not
+utter.</p>
+
+<p>He took her hands in his, pressing them with
+a strong close grasp.</p>
+
+<p>“I am satisfied. You are worthy of Gray
+Leighton’s tutelage. I will prove my words
+soon. Meanwhile—hush, child, do not give
+way now,” her features were quivering as she
+read the enthusiasm in the strong, intellectual
+face looking down at her so kindly. With a
+great effort she forced down her emotion and
+murmured, brokenly, “How can I thank
+you?”</p>
+
+<p>“By coming back with me and going
+through it again before Mrs. Carroll’s guests.
+You can—<i>will</i> you? You can trust yourself?”</p>
+
+<p>“Can I, Mr. Keene? For God’s sake think—<i>can</i>
+I?” she asked, looking at him with all
+the anxious longing of a great soul in her
+beautiful eyes.</p>
+
+<p>He gave her his arm with a reassuring little
+nod, and they entered the drawing-room.</p>
+
+<p>Keene took his hostess aside and explained
+in a few words. Then, turning to Muriel, led
+her to the centre of the room, and simply
+announced the scene.</p>
+
+<p>She did not hesitate now.</p>
+
+<p>Clear as a bell her laughter rang out, her
+gestures full of quaint witchery, void of
+ordinary theatrical assumption, her manner
+that of a perfectly-bred lady as she alternately
+yielded and taunted Benedict.</p>
+
+<p>There was a storm of applause as they
+finished, from every one of either sex.</p>
+
+<p>Again and again Keene was pressed to give
+an encore, but he knew that the girl had been
+taxed to the uttermost for that night, and he
+let her go.</p>
+
+<p>Old Losti went up to him and muttered a
+few significant words—</p>
+
+<p>“My friend, do you know what Scott
+Roberts has just said to me? Mr. Keene will
+do well to transplant that diamond to the
+‘Coliseum.’”</p>
+
+<p>The actor’s eyes flashed, but he said curtly—</p>
+
+<p>“I say nothing, for I do not know myself.
+Miss Winstanley is only an <i>amateur</i> at
+present.”</p>
+
+<p>Later on when the guests had all departed
+Carroll, who had been enjoying a cigar, strolled
+up to Keene, who was making his <i>adieux</i> to
+Muriel and his hostess.</p>
+
+<p>“Do not hurry, Keene, have a cigar in the
+library, the ladies will not object to two
+smokers, and they can stand umpires.”</p>
+
+<p>“Why?” laughed the other, as he looked
+for Mrs. Carroll’s permission before lighting
+up.</p>
+
+<p>“You know the misery I have endured for
+the last year with inefficient secretaries,” said
+the novelist, with mock indignation; “my
+hair nearly turned white with worry. You
+introduce a pearl beyond price to me, and when
+I begin to breathe freely—it’s perfectly
+monstrous, Keene. You are going to turn her
+into a Ristori, and leave me to my misery
+again.”</p>
+
+<p>“My dear fellow,” the other rejoined, laughing;
+“can I or any other man make a Ristori
+out of a nonentity? Miss Winstanley’s inner
+consciousness told her long ago in what
+direction her talent lay, and Gray Leighton
+confirmed her. I have done nothing but test
+my friend’s pupil—and I find what I expected.”</p>
+
+<p>“She is too good to be kept back,” Mrs.
+Carroll said, kissing Muriel, who was flushing
+and trying to escape. “Much as I regret it in
+one way, for we shall be the losers, it would be
+unfair to attempt to dissuade her. And you
+know, Colin, that Mr. Keene told us from the
+first——” she stopped, laughing. “The
+mischief is out; forgive me for my indiscretion.”</p>
+
+<p>Muriel had turned quickly to the actor, her
+eyes sparkling.</p>
+
+<p>“Ah! please tell me, Mr. Keene. Did you
+think—before—that I——</p>
+
+<p>“Could act?” enjoying her confusion
+quietly. “Yes, Miss Winstanley, after I had
+spoken to you for half-an-hour I felt convinced
+that you had a great talent for the stage; and
+the more I knew you, the stronger grew my
+impression. To-night you have given us all
+proof, and I am sure,” with a smile at the
+Carrolls, “that no one of your friends would
+wish to rob the histrionic profession of one of
+its future stars. Having had the advantage of
+two or three years of such excellent training,
+there need not be such long delay as is
+necessary with a complete novice. Experience
+is requisite, after which I hope you will have a
+brilliant career.”</p>
+
+<p>“Abominable!” cried Carroll. “If you were
+not beyond criticism, Keene, I would get Scott
+Roberts and Alex. Fraser to slate your next
+production. But you stand on such a deuced
+high pedestal that no one can touch you.”</p>
+
+<p>They all laughed as the actor rose to go,
+Carroll putting his arm around his shoulders as
+they left the room.</p>
+
+<p>The two had been close friends for years.</p>
+
+
+<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop">
+
+<div class="chapter">
+<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_IV">CHAPTER IV.</h2>
+</div>
+
+
+<p>True to his promise, Mr. Gascoigne came up
+to town and saw Muriel.</p>
+
+<p>She had of course told him of her good fortune
+in meeting with the Carrolls, and when
+he saw the genuine affection they both felt for
+her, and heard from the novelist how delighted
+he was with his new secretary, he strongly
+advised her to give up the idea of using her
+voice in any way as a professional.</p>
+
+<p>She smiled, but Mrs. Carroll told him of her
+triumph with Mr. Keene, and of his sanguine
+prognostications for her future, and the old
+lawyer raised his eyebrows.</p>
+
+<p>“I have seen Francis Keene in most of his
+best <i>rôles</i>. He is not the sort of man to take
+a sudden fancy I should say. He is considered
+one of the most relentless of managers and
+sternest of critics; if he asked you to act with
+him, Muriel, your future is evidently decided,
+and you are to be congratulated.”</p>
+
+<p>“We hope to keep her with us for as long as
+she likes to stay. My husband is so happy
+with her secretarial work that he dreads the
+time when she will not have the leisure,”
+Mrs. Carroll said, looking at Muriel affectionately.</p>
+
+<p>“Well, it is of no use for me to remind you
+of your promised visit to us at Easter,” Mr.
+Gascoigne said, when leaving. “As things are
+it would only make a break, I suppose. You
+know you have only to come, child, when you
+like. Let me have a wire or a letter when your
+first appearance is arranged, and I will run up
+to applaud you. Mrs. Gascoigne sends her
+dearest love; she is, as you know, too much of
+an invalid to travel. Reginald wanted to see
+you very badly, but I thought I would come
+alone this time. You can let him have a
+message if—the wish should ever prove reciprocal,”
+he added, laughing grimly.</p>
+
+<p>“Oh, I shall not do anything for a very long
+time yet,” the girl said, shaking her head,
+leaving the last sentence unanswered. “As
+you say, Mr. Keene is far too particular to
+recommend me anywhere until I am pretty
+certain not to disgrace his introduction.”</p>
+
+<hr class="tb">
+
+<p>About a fortnight after Mrs. Carroll’s “At
+Home,” Muriel was sitting alone in the
+drawing-room one afternoon, playing some of
+her favourite Chopin’s <i>nocturnes</i>.</p>
+
+<p>It had been a wet day, and Mrs. Carroll, who
+detested rain, had gone to her room to nurse a
+headache.</p>
+
+<p>The servant announced Mr. Keene, and
+Muriel got up quickly.</p>
+
+<p>“Mr. Carroll is out, and Mrs. Carroll is in
+her room, but I will go to her——”</p>
+
+<p>“I came to see you, Miss Winstanley,” he
+said, quietly. “Miss D’Orsay broke down
+after acting last night, and the doctor says she
+must go abroad at once, as her chest is very
+delicate. Her understudy, Miss Cameron, is
+in great trouble, for her mother is dying. I
+gave her permission to go down to Bath yesterday,
+and I shall be sorry to have to wire to
+her for to-night.”</p>
+
+<p>“To-night?”</p>
+
+<p>“Yes. Miss D’Orsay is too ill. Besides, she
+cannot speak above a whisper. Will you take
+her place with me?”</p>
+
+<p>The girl looked at him with wide open
+startled eyes.</p>
+
+<p>“<i>You ask me to act in the ‘Coliseum’?</i>” she
+gasped. “Merciful Heaven! Am I dreaming?”</p>
+
+<figure class="figcenter illowp60" id="i1" style="max-width: 101.8125em;">
+  <img class="w100" src="images/i1.jpg" alt="">
+  <figcaption class="caption">“YOU ASK ME TO ACT IN THE ‘COLISEUM’?” SHE GASPED.</figcaption>
+</figure>
+
+<p>“No. Listen. I intend to put on ‘Much
+Ado About Nothing’ in a fortnight, and after
+you went through that scene with me, I
+meant you to be my Beatrice. Ophelia is not
+a difficult part except for the mad scene.
+Your voice is so exceptionally fine that the
+songs will be a great feature. If you know
+the old music you know mine. Nothing is
+new. Will you do it? You are word perfect,
+of course? Gray Leighton was so wrapped up
+in ‘Hamlet,’ that you must have often rehearsed
+with him.”</p>
+
+<p>“Yes. I am word perfect,” said Muriel,
+slowly. “I have done it many times, and I
+know the music; but——”</p>
+
+<p>She raised her eyes piteously to his face.</p>
+
+<p>“Will you do it as a favour to me?”</p>
+
+<p>“Can I face the audience, Mr. Keene? That
+is my only fear.”</p>
+
+<p>“Yes, or I would not ask you. I do not
+count a failure at the ‘Coliseum,’” he said,
+smiling. “Will you come back with me and
+rehearse at once? I have all the people there,
+and we have over three hours. You shall dine
+at the theatre.”</p>
+
+<p>“Then you were sure of me?” she said,
+smiling in spite of herself, and the colour crept
+back to her face.</p>
+
+<p>“I felt I might rely upon your sympathy and<span class="pagenum" id="Page_7">[Pg 7]</span>
+help,” he returned, taking her hands and
+pressing them closely. “You see that I am in
+a difficulty, and I am selfish enough to come to
+you.”</p>
+
+<p>“How you put things,” the girl said, flushing.
+“I will do my best. I shall never dare
+to look straight in front of me, and if I die for
+it I will get through my part somehow.”</p>
+
+<p>“Thank you. Then there is no time to be
+lost. Will you let Mrs. Carroll know and put
+your hat on? You shall have some tea after
+the first rehearsal.”</p>
+
+<p>Mr. Carroll entered at that moment, and as
+Muriel passed him, she struck a sudden attitude,
+crying laughingly:</p>
+
+<p>“Behold Ophelia of the Coliseum Theatre!”
+and left the astonished novelist to receive explanation
+from Keene.</p>
+
+<p>In less than a few minutes she was back
+again in a picturesque big feathered hat and
+cloak, with some thick, fluffy furs round her
+throat.</p>
+
+<p>The actor’s brougham was waiting, and Mr.
+Carroll put her in, promising to be at the
+theatre with his wife as soon as possible.</p>
+
+<p>Keene had remembered every detail.</p>
+
+<p>A dressmaker was in attendance to make
+alterations in the dresses.</p>
+
+<p>Every employée was ordered to go into the
+auditorium.</p>
+
+<p>All the cast had been requested to attend for
+extra rehearsal before Muriel had been
+electrified by being asked to take the part.</p>
+
+<p>There was hardly any hitch.</p>
+
+<p>She was not only letter-perfect, but every
+gesture even to stage business had been carefully
+drilled in her; and her own rare receptivity
+and lightning-like perception saved her
+from many errors.</p>
+
+<p>She had acted before in the little theatre at
+Idleminster, but the difference from that to
+the big, stately grandeur of the ‘Coliseum’ was
+appalling.</p>
+
+<p>But Keene never took his eyes off her.</p>
+
+<p>Before going on he told her that she was to
+turn to him for every direction without fear.</p>
+
+<p>“No matter how slight your doubt, let me
+know.”</p>
+
+<p>And she obeyed him to the letter.</p>
+
+<p>So much so that after the first rehearsal of
+Ophelia’s part, he directed her to play to the
+house.</p>
+
+<p>Carroll had come down with about a dozen
+friends hastily collected, and these, with the
+employées, made a good appearance in the
+stalls.</p>
+
+<p>With a few directions, which were given in
+an undertone, under cover of mere conversation,
+the girl went through a second time.</p>
+
+<p>“Let yourself go,” said Keene. “Don’t be
+afraid.”</p>
+
+<p>“You have acted before?” said Rivers to her,
+who played Laertes. “But I have never had
+the pleasure of seeing you. I fancied that—from
+something Mr. Keene said—you were a
+novice; but I see my error. As he approves
+of course there can be no doubt of your success.
+He is well pleased I know.”</p>
+
+<p>“This is my first appearance in London,”
+she said, quietly. “I have taken parts in a
+little country theatre.”</p>
+
+<p>He stared at her for a little.</p>
+
+<p>“Then you have genius, Miss Winstanley,”
+he said, with courteous respect, and Keene
+approached.</p>
+
+<p>“You have done better than I hoped. It is
+needless to give you more fatigue. Go and
+rest until seven. Will you dine here?” to the
+Carrolls and two eminent critics who had
+come down out of kindness and friendship for
+Keene. “It will save you the trouble of going
+back, and it is past six already.”</p>
+
+<p>They at once accepted, and a very merry
+party it was.</p>
+
+<p>Keene took care that Muriel had a good
+dinner in spite of her protestations that she
+was too excited to eat, and some very especial
+Mumm was produced to wish her success.</p>
+
+<hr class="tb">
+
+<p>11.30 p.m.</p>
+
+<p>It was over.</p>
+
+<p>The theatre was just empty.</p>
+
+<p>Mr. Keene’s room was crowded, and Muriel’s
+name was in everyone’s mouth.</p>
+
+<p>She was a success.</p>
+
+<p>Three times had she been called before the
+curtain, trembling so that Keene had grasped
+her hand tightly, and the last time almost
+carried her to Mrs. Carroll who was awaiting
+her in the dressing-room.</p>
+
+<p>“Her fortune’s made!” said Scott Roberts,
+as he and Alex. Fraser went to greet her when
+Mrs. Carroll brought her to the green-room.</p>
+
+<p>“As usual, Keene’s on his feet. I did not
+see her bit of Beatrice the other night——”</p>
+
+<p>“I did,” nodded Fraser. “She was delightful.
+But anything like her acting to-night
+has never been heard of. All in a minute,
+you know. Marvellous I call it. And never
+hesitated for a word.”</p>
+
+<p>“I am glad you are pleased,” Muriel said,
+simply, but flushing with pleasure at the tone
+of genuine praise. “I was so horribly
+frightened and nervous when I heard someone
+say the house was packed that I thought I
+should have made an idiot of myself.”</p>
+
+<p>“You positively looked at the audience,”
+said Carroll. “Bang into the boxes too. My
+dear child, to talk of nervousness after that!
+You are a fraud!”</p>
+
+<p>“That was only when Mr. Keene was on the
+stage with me. I did not feel so afraid then.”</p>
+
+<p>“Your mad scene was quite novel. May one
+ask whether your rendering was entirely
+original, Miss Winstanley?” asked Alex.
+Fraser.</p>
+
+<p>But Keene came up, and laughingly pushed
+him aside.</p>
+
+<p>“Go home and write your ‘copy’ Fraser.
+She has had enough of it for one night, and I
+will not have her interviewed. When you
+have seen her as ‘Beatrice’ on my stage you
+shall hear who trained her.”</p>
+
+<p>And by-and-bye the Carrolls took her home.</p>
+
+<p>For one minute, as they were waiting for the
+brougham and the attention of the Carrolls
+was taken by some friends, Muriel turned to
+the actor, who was standing close behind her.</p>
+
+<p>“You have not criticized me,” she said, wistfully.
+“Mr. Keene was I even half what you
+expected? Shall I ever be good enough?”</p>
+
+<p>He leaned down to her, speaking in her ear.</p>
+
+<p>“I will answer your question to-morrow. I
+cannot thank you to-night.”</p>
+
+<p>Then aloud:</p>
+
+<p>“Will you be round at five o’clock to-morrow,
+Miss Winstanley, please? I should like you to
+go through one or two scenes with me—a full
+rehearsal will not be necessary.”</p>
+
+<p>“I will not fail,” she said, giving him her
+hand.</p>
+
+<p>As they were driven away, Mrs. Carroll took
+her in her arms and kissed her.</p>
+
+<p>“You were simply wonderful, my dear.
+Everyone was electrified, and even after the
+other night I could hardly believe my eyes.
+We shall lose you now.”</p>
+
+<p>“Not a bit of it,” said her husband. “She
+must live somewhere, and why not with us?
+And she can still help me in the mornings, eh,
+my dear?”</p>
+
+<p>“How good you are to me,” she returned,
+gratefully. “Of course I will, Mr. Carroll. But
+when Miss D’Orsay gets well I shall have to
+wait perhaps a long time——”</p>
+
+<p>The novelist laughed.</p>
+
+<p>“You made a hit, my dear; your singing
+alone was worth hearing. Keene was pleased,
+though he said nothing; he seldom does.
+Think of it. You have made your <i>début</i> on the
+stage of the ‘Coliseum,’ acting with the greatest
+man of the time, not as a super either but as
+leading lady. I shall put you into my next
+novel, and everyone will say how far-fetched
+is the plot.”</p>
+
+<p>The next day Mrs. Carroll drove her down to
+the theatre, saying she would return in time to
+take her back to dinner.</p>
+
+<p>As Muriel went to the green-room, Keene
+came out of his own and led her in, merely
+greeting her in his usual courteous way.</p>
+
+<p>The room was empty, and the girl looked
+round a little wonderingly.</p>
+
+<p>“Am I to rehearse here instead of on the
+stage?”</p>
+
+<p>He did not answer for a moment.</p>
+
+<p>She threw aside her wraps and stood waiting
+until he approached her quite closely.</p>
+
+<p>“I have heard from Miss D’Orsay that it is
+uncertain whether she will ever be strong
+enough to return to the stage,” he said distinctly,
+but in low tones. “Will you accept
+the position of leading lady, Miss Winstanley?”</p>
+
+<p>She drew back a few steps, staring at him
+in bewilderment, her deep eyes looking almost
+dazed.</p>
+
+<p>Then they flashed, and she ran towards him
+with outstretched hands.</p>
+
+<p>“Ah, you cannot mean it, you cannot,” she
+gasped, breathing convulsively.</p>
+
+<p>He took her hands in both his own, and
+drew her towards him very gently, looking
+into her eyes with such intensity that she felt
+he was reading her very soul.</p>
+
+<p>Her colour came and went with each breath.</p>
+
+<p>She was powerless to resist the strong
+magnetic influence felt by all who knew
+Francis Keene.</p>
+
+<p>“Yes, I mean it. I offer you the post for
+life if you will accept it. I want you to play
+Beatrice to my Benedict for all time. I have
+loved you from the time of our first meeting.
+Am I too presumptuous, or do you care a little
+for me? When I saw my roses in your breast,
+when you yielded to my caress that was inevitable
+then, I fancied that my touch had
+power to thrill you. Muriel—”</p>
+
+<p>Her eyes sank beneath his, and he held her
+close to his heart, stooping until his lips rested
+on hers.</p>
+
+<p>For a moment she rested so, then, with a
+sudden shudder, she drew herself away.</p>
+
+<p>“You do not know who I am,” she whispered
+hoarsely. “My mother—was—guilty of
+a great sin.”</p>
+
+<p>“Do not tell me, my child,” he interrupted.
+“I love you. Whoever or whatever were your
+people and their doings is nothing to me.”</p>
+
+<p>“I can never marry,” she said, clasping her
+hands to her heart, and speaking with passionate
+strength, “for if ever I meet a man
+named Philip Ainslie I will kill him. He merits
+death. If he has any descendants I will tell
+them of their father’s iniquity.”</p>
+
+<p>Keene started violently, and looked at her
+with amazement in his face.</p>
+
+<p>Then he went slowly to her, and put his
+hands on her shoulders.</p>
+
+<p>“My darling, what phantasy is this? Philip
+Ainslie was my father. I am his eldest son,
+Francis Ainslie. How has my father wronged
+you?”</p>
+
+<p>He never forgot the horror and misery that
+his words brought into her features, nor the
+pathos with which she recoiled, shuddering in
+every limb.</p>
+
+<p>“Oh, dear God! You, <i>Francis Ainslie</i>——”</p>
+
+<p>“Keene is my theatrical name. What is it,
+my child? What is the sin?” he asked, very
+tenderly. “Come to me and tell me.”</p>
+
+<p>But she shrank from him, pressing her
+hands to her eyes as though to shut him out
+from her sight.</p>
+
+<p>“You—you—” she moaned. “I cannot tell
+you—I cannot——”</p>
+
+<p>With two steps he caught her in his arms,
+crushing her resistance with unconscious
+strength, pressing passionate kisses on her
+pale, quivering lips.</p>
+
+<p>“You love me—you cannot deny that. I
+will yield you to no other, listen to no reason
+that can separate you from me. By this kiss I
+swear that you shall be my wife. Now tell
+me,” releasing her, “what was the wrong done
+by my father? What did he do. Tell me,
+Muriel.”</p>
+
+<p>White as death, she met his look and
+answered faintly—</p>
+
+<p>“He betrayed my mother and murdered my
+father.”</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_8">[Pg 8]</span></p>
+
+<p>Then, before he could prevent, slipped to the
+ground.</p>
+
+<p>For the first time in her life, she had
+fainted.</p>
+
+<figure class="figcenter illowp92" id="i2" style="max-width: 125.25em;">
+  <img class="w100" src="images/i2.jpg" alt="">
+  <figcaption class="caption">FOR THE FIRST TIME IN HER LIFE SHE HAD FAINTED.</figcaption>
+</figure>
+
+<p>He raised her to a chair, and fetched brandy
+himself, but it was some minutes before she
+opened her eyes.</p>
+
+<p>As soon as she was fully sensible he made
+her drink some brandy mixed with water, fairly
+pouring it down her throat.</p>
+
+<p>Then he spoke to her, firmly holding her
+hands in a strong grasp.</p>
+
+<p>And by degrees, with her face hidden on his
+shoulder, she told him the story of Ainslie’s
+treachery, her mother’s weakness, and of her
+father’s nobility, though it cost him his life.</p>
+
+<p>As she finished she drew away from him and
+spoke very quietly—</p>
+
+<p>“You see that I could never be your wife.
+I could not marry the son of my father’s murderer.
+Do not seek to persuade me.”</p>
+
+<p>“Listen to me, my darling. My father was
+not a good man. He married at one-and-twenty
+my mother, a beautiful girl of seventeen,
+and in two years he deserted her after
+breaking her heart with his cruelty. She died
+when I was little more than six years old, but
+after nearly thirty years I can see her lovely
+face still, with its look of eternal unhappiness.
+I was educated at a monastery in Florence
+until I was eighteen, and I never saw my
+father’s face nor knew that he existed; he
+had made no sign nor troubled himself to
+know if I were living or dead. My mother’s
+father had settled some money upon me,
+which made me independent. When I came
+to England and went to Oxford I found that
+my father was living—that he had re-married.
+But though I sought him out, he betrayed
+such little interest in me that I left him, declaring
+that he would never see me again
+unless he summoned me.</p>
+
+<p>“I carried out my own career without his aid.
+His life was a very unhappy one, his second
+wife was a woman who was my mother’s
+opposite entirely—strong, domineering, extravagant.
+He died two years ago, before I
+could go to him, of a painful disease.</p>
+
+<p>“You see, my darling, that I knew nothing
+of his sin against your father—it must have
+been committed whilst I was in Florence. I
+will not press you now—you will require all
+your strength to act to-night. In a week from
+to-day I will hear your decision.”</p>
+
+<p>And as she got up wearily he took her in his
+arms and kissed her quietly with a strength
+and mastery that were irresistible.</p>
+
+<hr class="tb">
+
+<p>Neither by word nor look did Muriel feel
+that the man with whom she acted night after
+night remembered aught of their conversation
+concerning her mother’s and his father’s sin,
+nor of the love that he had shown to her.</p>
+
+<p>Whatever his genius evinced to the audience—and
+with Ophelia there is but little of
+the tender passion to be shown—Muriel knew
+that he was keeping his word to the letter,
+and, woman-like, she experienced just a little
+pique that it was so.</p>
+
+<p>His courtesy was always the same, but
+whether they were alone or not, his manner
+showed no more warmth than was requisite for
+a close friend.</p>
+
+<p>It had been a Monday when she first acted
+at the “Coliseum”; the week would be up on
+Tuesday.</p>
+
+<p>Muriel grew white and embarrassed, dreading
+to meet his look, yet looking forward each day
+to the evening.</p>
+
+<p>On the Saturday when the Carrolls came to
+fetch her, the novelist turned to Keene.</p>
+
+<p>“Will you drive down to Windsor with us
+to-morrow? Roberts is coming, and Sir
+Randal and Lady Trevelyan.”</p>
+
+<p>“I should have been delighted,” the actor
+said, cordially; “but I have to go down into
+the country—to see a friend who is ill. I have
+been wanting to go all the week, but Sunday
+is my only day, you see.”</p>
+
+<p>And on Monday when Muriel arrived at the
+theatre, her dresser brought her a note from
+Keene.</p>
+
+<div class="blockquot">
+
+<p>“<span class="smcap">My</span> dear child,—You will find an old friend
+in the green room, who is anxious to see you.
+Can you go now? You had better dress first,
+however.</p>
+
+<p class="sig2">
+“Yours, <span class="smcap">F. Keene</span>.”<br>
+</p>
+</div>
+
+<p>“Who can it be?” she said to herself, telling
+her dresser to be very quick.</p>
+
+<p>And in ten minutes she was ready and
+hastening to the green room.</p>
+
+<p>Keene was there, leaning over someone lying
+on a sofa.</p>
+
+<p>He turned to greet her, and then Muriel
+gave a little cry and ran forward to kneel by
+the couch.</p>
+
+<p>“You!” she said. “Oh! Mr. Leighton, this
+is so delightful. I never dared to hope that
+you would come to London.”</p>
+
+<p>The picturesque-looking man, sadly worn
+and wasted physically, lying back on the
+cushions, gave a warm smile, and took her
+hands in his.</p>
+
+<p>“When your letter reached me, child, telling
+of your success, I felt tempted to try to get to
+town; but—you know my weakness and
+dislike to being seen.”</p>
+
+<p>“Yes,” she said softly, “I know; and,” with
+a quick flush, “Mr. Keene managed it, I am
+sure.”</p>
+
+<p>“He found me out through you, child, of
+course. And yesterday, Francis,” to the actor
+who had left them alone, “I wonder if you
+realised what it was to me to see you? It was
+like old times—”</p>
+
+<p>Keene came back and went round to the
+other side from Muriel, leaning forward and
+putting one hand caressingly on Leighton’s
+shoulder.</p>
+
+<p>When he spoke, Muriel knew that he was
+putting stern control over himself, not letting
+the emotion he felt be detected by the swift,
+restless eyes that now and then lit up with all
+the fire and intellect of a great actor’s enthusiasm.</p>
+
+<p>It was no light thing, the meeting of the
+two men, separated by nearly ten years’
+absence.</p>
+
+<p>They had parted with Leighton in the full
+zenith of his career, Keene the rising young
+actor of five-and-twenty, even then considered
+by old playgoers to be far in advance of all
+others.</p>
+
+<p>The one had been cut down in the prime of
+his manhood, his life’s happiness seared by one
+of the basest treacheries ever perpetrated by a
+friend. His enthusiasm damped, his sensitive
+nature shrinking beneath the blow, he could
+not endure the former publicity that had
+attached to his lightest action, preferring to
+live in an obscure country town, away from
+the torment of the world’s pity.</p>
+
+<p>“You have reached so high a pinnacle that
+the critics cannot influence, yet you will not
+disdain my congratulations, Francis. You
+were always greater far than I, and to your
+own power you add that of unrivalled management——”</p>
+
+<p>Keene laughingly put his hand over the
+speaker’s mouth.</p>
+
+<p>“Opinions differ, my dear Lyon. I would
+give a very great deal to have the old days
+revived. You worked wonders with your
+pupil here. I had little or nothing to add to
+your training, given at such disadvantage.”</p>
+
+<p>“I should like to witness the performance
+to-night from the front, if it can be managed.
+Can you put me somewhere out of sight?”
+Fenton asked; “if not——”</p>
+
+<p>“Your chair will be placed in the stage
+box,” Keene answered, softly; “no one shall
+bother you. Colin Carroll—you remember
+him?”</p>
+
+<p>“The writer? Yes; a very amusing
+fellow.”</p>
+
+<p>“He has married since you knew him—a
+charming little woman. I thought of asking
+them to take care of you; here they are.”</p>
+
+<p>“And Mr. Gascoigne!” cried Muriel. “Mr.
+Keene, you are inimitable.”</p>
+
+<p>“That is true,” laughed Fenton. “There is
+the call-boy, Francis.”</p>
+
+<p>The Carrolls came up, and the invalid’s
+chair was wheeled to the stage box.</p>
+
+<p>Mr. Gascoigne went off to his stall, for
+Keene would not run the risk of wearying
+Fenton by too many faces and conversation at
+first.</p>
+
+<p>The performance went off more brilliantly
+than ever.</p>
+
+<p>Muriel, conscious of the white, worn face
+watching hers and Keene’s every movement,
+listening to every word, and of her old friend
+straight in front of her in the stalls, was in a
+fever of excitement.</p>
+
+<p>Her eyes flashed and sparkled; in the mad
+scene she surpassed herself, her voice filling
+every corner of the vast theatre like the chime
+of silver bells, low but clear.</p>
+
+<p>Keene was superb, and the audience
+thundered such applause that he was bound to
+appear after each act again and again, Muriel
+also being called for with him.</p>
+
+<p>“You will be a great actress, my dear,” Lyon
+Fenton said to her afterwards. “Although
+you have had every possible advantage in
+going on with Keene, still an educated
+audience would not tolerate mediocrity even
+under such auspices. You have sympathy, you
+are <i>en rapport</i> with your part and with the
+people, and you are very beautiful. Go on
+working hard—Keene will never let you rest;
+and he is the greatest man of the time. You
+like him?”</p>
+
+<p>She coloured hotly under the swift, searching
+scrutiny.</p>
+
+<p>“My dear, you will not be offended with
+me—”</p>
+
+<p>She knelt down by the chair.</p>
+
+<p>They were alone; and the tears trembled on
+her eyelids.</p>
+
+<p>“You know that I can never repay a tenth
+part of your goodness to me,” she said, with
+deepest feeling. “All my life, Mr. Fenton, I
+shall pray that—even yet—you may be happy.
+Without your training I could have done
+nothing, and your introduction—”</p>
+
+<p>“No, no. That was all overshadowed by
+your meeting with Keene in the train. He
+loved you at first sight—I know all about it,
+my child. And yet there is a cloud between
+you. He is very attractive to women—surely
+you are not insensible to his affection and
+admiration? Tell me what is the matter. I
+am old enough to be your father, and, moreover,
+I have one foot in the grave and the
+other hovering on the brink. I believe that
+you do care for him with all your strength,” he
+added, putting one hand on her arm, gently,
+and lifting her face.</p>
+
+<p>“Yes,” she said, suddenly, “I do, Mr.
+Fenton. How could I help it? He was so
+kind, so thoughtful, so generous; and, when
+I found that he knew you so well, it was not
+like speaking to a stranger.”</p>
+
+<hr class="tb">
+
+<p>“And so, sweetheart, you will not visit my
+father’s sin upon me? I hoped that Fenton
+would persuade you. Indeed,” laughing, and
+turning her face up to his, “I am strongly of
+opinion that he is first with you. I have got
+his promise that he will live with us; so
+that his last years will be happier than the
+past ten have been. And the child loves you.
+Are you pleased, my darling?”</p>
+
+<p>She put her arms round his neck, and, for
+the first time, laid her mouth on his with a
+long passionate kiss.</p>
+
+<p>If he had doubted the strength of her love
+before, he never did after that.</p>
+
+<p>“You are perfect, Francis. Quite perfect,”
+she said, gravely. “If you do not commit
+something mortal I shall be afraid of you.”</p>
+
+<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop">
+
+<p>NOTICE.—The next Complete Novelette Story, to be Given Away with No. 676 of “<span class="smcap">Something to Read</span>” Journal, will be entitled:</p>
+
+<p class="center large">AT THE ALTAR RAILS.</p>
+
+
+<p class="center small">Printed by <span class="smcap">A. Bradley</span>, at the London and County Works, Drury Lane, W.C.; and Published for the Proprietor, <span class="smcap">Edwin J. Brett</span>,
+    at 173, Fleet Street, E.C.—Feb. 13, 1894.</p>
+
+
+<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop">
+
+<div class="transnote">
+<div class="chapter">
+<h2 class="nobreak" id="Transcribers_Notes">Transcriber’s Notes:</h2>
+</div>
+
+
+<p>This story was published as a separate eight-page booklet distributed as
+a give-away with the journal <i>Something to Read</i>.</p>
+
+<p>Obvious typographical errors have been silently corrected.</p>
+
+<p>Illustrations have been moved nearer the appropriate points in the text.</p>
+
+<p>Table of contents has been added and placed into the public domain by
+the transcriber.
+</p>
+</div>
+<div style='text-align:center'>*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 75340 ***</div>
+</body>
+</html>
+
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+Project Gutenberg (https://www.gutenberg.org) public repository for
+eBook #75340 (https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/75340)