THE TEMPEST.
The play was begun, and the stage was the centre of light. Thither
Malcolm’s eyes were drawn the instant he entered. He was all but
unaware of the multitude of faces about him, and his attention was
at once fascinated by the lovely show revealed in soft radiance. But
surely he had seen the vision before! One long moment its effect
upon him was as real as if he had been actually deceived as to
its nature: was it not the shore between Scaurnose and Portlossie,
betwixt the Boar’s Tail and the sea? and was not that the marquis,
his father, in his dressing gown, pacing to and fro upon the
sands? He yielded himself to illusion--abandoned himself to the
wonderful, and looked only for what would come next.
A lovely lady entered: to his excited fancy it was Florimel. A
moment more and she spoke.
If by your art, my dearest father, you have
Put the wild waters in this roar, allay them.
Then first he understood that before him rose in wondrous realization
the play of Shakspere he knew best--the first he had ever read: _The
Tempest_, hitherto a lovely phantom for the mind’s eye, now embodied
to the enraptured sense. During the whole of the first act he never
thought either of Miranda or Florimel apart. At the same time so taken
was he with the princely carriage and utterance of Ferdinand that,
though with a sigh, he consented he should have his sister.
The drop-scene had fallen for a minute or two before he began to look
around him. A moment more and he had commenced a thorough search for
his sister amongst the ladies in the boxes. But when at length he found
her, he dared not fix his eyes upon her lest his gaze should make
her look at him, and she should recognise him. Alas, her eyes might
have rested on him twenty times without his face once rousing in her
mind the thought of the fisher-lad of Portlossie! All that had passed
between them in the days already old was virtually forgotten.
By degrees he gathered courage, and soon began to feel that there was
small chance indeed of her eyes alighting upon him for the briefest of
moments. Then he looked more closely, and felt through rather than saw
with his eyes that some sort of change had already passed upon her. It
was Florimel, yet not the very Florimel he had known. Already something
had begun to supplant the girl-freedom that had formerly in every look
and motion asserted itself. She was more beautiful, but not so lovely
in his eyes; much of what had charmed him had vanished. She was more
stately, but the stateliness had a little hardness mingled with it:
and could it be that the first of a cloud had already gathered on her
forehead? Surely she was not so happy as she had been at Lossie House.
She was dressed in black, with a white flower in her hair.
Beside her sat the bold-faced countess, and behind them her nephew,
Lord Meikleham that was now Lord Liftore. A fierce indignation seized
the heart of Malcolm at the sight. Behind the form of the earl, his
mind’s eye saw that of Lizzy, out in the wind on the Boar’s Tail, her
old shawl wrapped about herself and the child of the man who sat there
so composed and comfortable. His features were fine and clear-cut,
his shoulders broad, and his head well set: he had much improved
since Malcolm offered to fight him with one hand in the dining-room
of Lossie House. Every now and then he leaned forward between his
aunt and Florimel, and spoke to the latter. To Malcolm’s eyes she
seemed to listen with some haughtiness. Now and then she cast him an
indifferent glance. Malcolm was pleased: Lord Liftore was anything but
the Ferdinand to whom he could consent to yield his Miranda. They would
make a fine couple certainly, but for any other fitness, knowing what
he did, Malcolm was glad to perceive none. The more annoyed was he when
once or twice he fancied he caught a look between them that indicated
more than acquaintanceship-- some sort of intimacy at least. But he
reflected that in the relation in which they stood to Lady Bellair it
could hardly be otherwise.
The play was tolerably well put upon the stage, and free of the
absurdities attendant upon too ambitious an endeavour to represent
to the sense things which Shakspere and the dramatists of his period
freely committed to their best and most powerful ally, the willing
imagination of the spectators. The opening of the last scene, where
Ferdinand and Miranda are discovered at chess, was none the less
effective for its simplicity, and Malcolm was turning from a delighted
gaze at its loveliness to glance at his sister and her companions, when
his eyes fell on a face near him in the pit which had fixed an absorbed
regard in the same direction. It was that of a man a few years older
than himself, with irregular features, but a fine mouth, large chin;
and great forehead. Under the peculiarly prominent eyebrows shone dark
eyes of wondrous brilliancy and seeming penetration. Malcolm could not
but suspect that his gaze was upon his sister, but as they were a long
way from the boxes, he could not be certain. Once he thought he saw her
look at him, but of that also he could be in no wise certain.
He knew the play so well that he rose just in time to reach the
pit-door ere exit should be impeded with the outcomers, and thence with
some difficulty he found his way to the foot of the stair up which
those he watched had gone. There he had stood but a little while, when
he saw in front of him, almost within reach of an outstretched hand,
the same young man waiting also. After what seemed a long time, he saw
his sister and her two companions come slowly down the stair in the
descending crowd. Her eyes seemed searching amongst the multitude that
filled the lobby. Presently an indubitable glance of still recognition
passed between them, and by a slight movement the young man placed
himself so that she must pass next him in the crowd. Malcolm got one
place nearer in the change, and thought they grasped hands. She turned
her head slightly back, and seemed to put a question--with her lips
only. He replied in the same manner. A light rushed into her face and
vanished. But not a feature moved and not a word had been spoken.
Neither of her companions had seen the dumb show, and her friend stood
where he was till they had left the house. Malcolm stood also, much
inclined to follow him when he went, but, his attention having been
attracted for a moment in another direction, when he looked again he
had disappeared. He sought him where he fancied he saw the movement
of his vanishing, but was soon convinced of the uselessness of the
attempt, and walked home.
Before he reached his lodging, he had resolved on making trial of a
plan which had more than once occurred to him, but had as often been
rejected as too full of the risk of repulse.