Part 6 (1/2)

That Shout, like the hoa.r.s.e Peals of Vultures rings, When, over fighting Fields they beat their wings.”_

”And how should I read them, dear master?” she asked demurely of her vainglorious preceptor.

”Like I read them, in sooth,” replied he, well convinced that his reading could not be bettered.

”Like you read them, in sooth,” replied Nell, meekly. She took the floor and repeated the lines with the precise action and trick of voice which Hart had used. Every ”r” was well trilled; ”gaping” was p.r.o.nounced with an anaconda-look, as though she were about to swallow the theatre, audience and all; and, as she spoke the line, ”When, over fighting Fields they beat their wings,” she raised her arms and shoulders in imitation of some barn-yard fowl vainly essaying flight and swept across the room, the picture of grace in ungracefulness.

”'Tis monstrous!” exclaimed Hart, bitterly, as he realized the travesty.

”You cannot act and never could. I was a fool to engage you.”

Nell was back by the vase, toying with the flowers. ”London applauds my acting,” she suggested, indifferently.

”London applauds the face and figure; not the art,” replied Hart.

”London is wise; for the art is in the face and figure, Master Jack. You told me so yourself,” she added, sharply, pointing her finger at her adversary in quick condemnation. She turned away triumphant.

”I was a fool like the rest,” replied Hart, visibly irritated that he could not get the better of the argument.

”Come, don't be angry,” said Nell. Her manner had changed; for her heart had made her fearful lest her tongue had been unkind. ”Mayhap Almahyde is the last part Nell will ever play.” She looked thoughtfully into the bunch of roses. Did she see a prophecy there?

He approached the table where she stood. ”Your head is turned by the flowers,” he said, bitterly. ”An honest motive, no doubt, prompted the royal gift.”

Nell turned sharply upon him. Her lips trembled, but one word only came to them--”Jack!”

Hart's eyes fell under the rebuke; for he knew that only anger prompted what he had said. He would have struck another for the same words.

”Pardon, Nell,” he said, softly. ”My heart rebukes my tongue. I love you!”

Nell stepped back to the mirror, contemplating herself, bedecked as she was with the flowers. In an instant she forgot all, and replied playfully to Hart's confession of love: ”Of course, you do. How could you help it? So do others.”

”I love you better than the rest,” he added, vehemently, ”better than my life.” He tried to put his arms about her.

Nell, however, was by him like a flash.

”Not so fast, dear sir,” she said, coyly; and she tiptoed across the room and ensconced herself high in the throne-chair.

Hart followed and knelt below her, adoring.

”Admit that I can act--a little--just a little--dear Hart, or tell me no more of love.” She spoke with the half-amused, half-indifferent air of a beautiful princess to some servant-suitor; and she was, indeed, most lovable as she leaned back in the great throne-chair. She seemed a queen and the theatre her realm. Her beautiful arms shone white in the flickering candle-light. Her sceptre was a rose which the King of England had given her.

Hart stepped back and looked upon the picture. ”By heaven, Nell,” he cried, ”I spoke in anger. You are the most marvellous actress in the world. Nature, art and genius crown your work.”

Nell smiled at his vehemence. ”I begin to think that you have taste most excellent,” she said.

Hart sprang to her side, filled with hope. As the stage-lover he ne'er spoke in tenderer tones. ”Sweet Nell, when I found you in the pit, a ragged orange-girl, I saw the sparkle in your eye, the bright intelligence, the magic genius, which artists love. I claimed you for my art, which is the art of arts--for it embraces all. I had the theatre. I gave it you. You captured the Lane--then London. You captured my soul as well, and held it slave.”

”Did I do all that, dear Jack?” she asked, wistfully.

”And more,” said Hart, rapturously. ”You captured my years to come, my hope, ambition, love--all. All centred in your heart and eyes, sweet Nell, from the hour I first beheld you.”

Nell's look was far away. ”Is love so beautiful?” she murmured softly.