He
promised himself not to leave it for a moment out of sight; and
whilst he scanned the rest of the theatre, or made a show of
attending to the business of the stage, he always kept a corner of
an eye upon the empty box.
The second act had been some time in progress, and was even drawing
towards a close, when the door opened and two persons entered and
ensconced themselves in the darkest of the shade. Francis could
hardly control his emotion. It was Mr. Vandeleur and his daughter.
The blood came and went in his arteries and veins with stunning
activity; his ears sang; his head turned. He dared not look lest
he should awake suspicion; his play-bill, which he kept reading
from end to end and over and over again, turned from white to red
before his eyes; and when he cast a glance upon the stage, it
seemed incalculably far away, and he found the voices and gestures
of the actors to the last degree impertinent and absurd.
From time to time he risked a momentary look in the direction which
principally interested him; and once at least he felt certain that
his eyes encountered those of the young girl. A shock passed over
his body, and he saw all the colours of the rainbow. What would he
not have given to overhear what passed between the Vandeleurs?
What would he not have given for the courage to take up his opera-
glass and steadily inspect their attitude and expression? There,
for aught he knew, his whole life was being decided - and he not
able to interfere, not able even to follow the debate, but
condemned to sit and suffer where he was, in impotent anxiety.
Pages:
171
172
173
174
175
176
177
178
179
180
181
182
183
184
185
186
187
188
189
190
191
192
193
194
195