"Don't fear. Their eagerness is premature."
He pulled off my coat and shirt. Grown calm again before his assurance,
I got into my clothes for Act Two--a modern dinner suit. With alcohol I
removed the clinging side-whiskers, repaired my make-up and brushed my
hair into modern fashion once more. Within seconds, it seemed, Davidson
was calling us to our places.
The curtain rose on Sigrid and me, as Mary and Swithin, hearing the
ancestral tale of horror from Old Bridget. As before, the audience
listened raptly, and as before it rose to the dramatic entrance of
Varduk. He wore his first-act costume, and his manner was even more
compelling. Again I felt myself thrust into the background of the
drama; as for Sigrid, great actress though she is, she prospered only
at his sufferance.
Off stage, on again, off once more--the play was Varduk's, and Sigrid's
personality was being eclipsed. Yet she betrayed no anger or dislike
of the situation. It was as though Varduk mastered her, even while his
character of Ruthven overpowered her character of Mary. I felt utterly
helpless.
* * * * *
In the wings I saw the climax approach. Varduk, flanked by Davidson as
the obedient Oscar, was declaring Ruthven's intention to gain revenge
and love.
"Get your sword," muttered Jake, who had taken Davidson's place at the
curtain ropes. "You're on again in a moment."
I ran to my dressing-room. Pursuivant opened the door, thrust something
into my hand.
"It's the silver sword," he told me quickly. "The one from my cane.
Trust in it, Connatt. Almost eleven o'clock--go, and God stiffen your
arm."
It seemed a mile from the door to the wings. I reached it just in time
for my entrance cue--Sigrid's cry of "Swithin will not allow this."
"Let him try to prevent it," grumbled Davidson, fierce and grizzled as
the devil-converted Oscar.
"I'm here for that purpose," I said clearly, and strode into view. The
sword from Pursuivant's cane I carried low, hoping that Varduk would
not notice at once. He stood with folded arms, a mocking smile just
touching his white face.
"So brave?" he chuckled. "So foolish?"
"My ancestor killed you once, Ruthven," I said, with more meaning than
I had ever employed before. "I can do so again."