Mr. Melton shrugged his shoulders; but Count Schonstein was paying no attention to him.

"_If she has discovered the secret,_" he was reasoning with himself, "_she would be in no such desperate hurry to leave the stage. If she has not, now is the time for me._"

"Melton," he said, "what would be a reasonable forfeit if she broke her engagement?"

"I don't know. I should say 200*l*. She said she could not offer me compensation in money, and that's why she begged so hard of me for the favour. G.o.d knows, if I could afford it, and were my own master, I should not make the poor creature keep to her engagement. Look at the money she used to put into the treasury every week."

"Very good. Come downstairs to your room; I want to transact some business with you."

When they had gone down to the stage and pa.s.sed through the wings to Mr.

Melton's private room, both men sate down in front of a table on which were writing materials.

"Take a sheet of paper, like a good fellow," said the Count, "and write to my dictation."

Melton took the pen in his hand, and the Count continued-

"_My dear Miss Brunel,-In consideration of your past services, and of the great success attending_-should that be attendant, Melton?-_upon your previous labours in this theatre, I beg to offer you entire liberty to break your present engagement, at whatever time you please.-Yours sincerely, Charles Melton._"

"And what do you propose to do with that, Count?" said Melton, with a smile.

"I propose to give you this bit of paper for it," said the Count.

He handed the manager an _I.O.U._ for 200*l.*; and then carefully folded up the letter and put it in his pocket.

CHAPTER XXVII.

DOUBTFUL.

Without taking off either bonnet or cloak, Annie Brunel, on reaching home that night, went at once to Mrs. Christmas's room, and flung herself down on the edge of the bed where the poor old woman lay, ailing and languid.

"Oh, mother, mother," cried the girl, "I can never go to the theatre any more!"

She buried her face in the bed-clothes, and only stretched out her hand for sympathy. The old woman tried to put her arm round the girl's neck, but relinquished the attempt with a sigh.

"What is to become of us, Miss Annie?"

"I don't know-I don't know," she said, almost wildly, "and why should I care any longer?"

"What new trouble is this that has fallen on us?" said Mrs. Christmas, faintly. "Why do you speak like that?"

"Because I don't know what to say, mother-because I would rather die than go to the theatre again-and he says I must. I cannot go-I cannot go-and there is no one to help me!"

The old woman turned her eyes-and they looked large in the shrivelled and weakly face-on her companion.

"Annie, you won't tell me what is the matter. Why should you hate the stage? Hasn't it been kind to you? Wasn't it kind to your mother-for many a long year, when she and you depended on it for your lives? The stage is a kind home for many a poor creature whom the world has cast out-and you, Miss Annie, who have been in a theatre all your life, what has taken you now? The newspapers?"

The girl only shook her head.

"Because the business isn't good?"

No answer.

"Has Mr. Melton been saying anything--?"

"I tell you, mother," said the girl, pa.s.sionately, "that I will not go upon the stage, because I hate it! And I hate the people-I hate them for staring at me, and making me ashamed of myself. I hate them because they are rich, and happy, and full of their own concerns-indeed, mother, I can't tell you-I only know that I will never go on the stage again, let them do what they like. Oh, to feel their eyes on me, and to know that I am only there for their amus.e.m.e.nt, and to know that I cannot compel them to-to anything but sit and compa.s.sionately admire my dress, and my efforts to please them. I can't bear it, Lady Jane-I can't bear it."

And here she broke out into a fit of hysterical sobbing.

"My poor dear, when I should be strong and ready to comfort you, here I am weaker and more helpless than yourself. But don't go back to the theatre, sweetheart, until your taste for it returns--"

"It will never return. I hate the thought of it."

"But it may. And in the meantime haven't we over 40*l.* in the house of good savings?"

"That is nothing to what I must undertake to give Mr. Melton if I break my engagement. But I don't mind that much, Lady Jane-I don't mind anything except going back there, and you must never ask me to go back.

Say that you won't! We shall get along somehow--"

"My darling, how can you imagine I would seek to send you back?"

Annie Brunel did not sleep much that night; but by the morning she had recovered all her wonted courage and self-composure. Indeed, it was with a new and singular sense of freedom and cheerfulness that she rose to find the world before her, her own path through it as yet uncertain and full of risks. But she was now mistress of herself; she went to bid Mrs. Christmas good morning with a blithe air, and then, as every Englishwoman does under such circ.u.mstances, she sent for the _Times_.

She had no definite impression about her capabilities for earning her living out of the dramatic profession; but she expected to find all the requisite suggestions in the _Times_. Here was column after column of proffered employment; surely one little bit might be allotted to her.

So she sate down hopefully before the big sheet, and proceeded to put a well-defined cross opposite each advertis.e.m.e.nt which she imagined offered her a fair chance.

While she was thus engaged, Count Schonstein's brougham was announced; and a few minutes thereafter, the Count, having sent up his card, was permitted to enter the room.

Outwardly his appearance was elaborate, and he wore a single deep crimson rose in the lapel of his tightly-b.u.t.toned frock-coat. His eyes, however, were a little anxious. And it was soon apparent that he had for the present relinquished his grand manner.

"I am delighted to see you looking so well," he said, "and I hope Mrs.

Christmas is also the better for her holiday--"

"Poor Lady Jane is very ill," said Miss Brunel, "though she will scarcely admit it."

"Have I disturbed your political studies?" he asked, looking at the open newspaper.

"I have been reading the advertis.e.m.e.nts of situations," she said, frankly.

"Not, I hope," he remarked, "with any reference to what I heard from Mr.

Melton last night about your retiring from the stage?"

"Indeed, it is from no other cause," she said, cheerfully. "I have resolved not to play any more; but we cannot live without my doing something--"

"In the meantime," said the Count, drawing a letter from his pocket, "I have much pleasure in handing you this note from Mr. Melton. You will find that it releases you from your present engagement, whenever you choose to avail yourself of the power."

The young girl's face was lit up with a sudden glow of happiness and grat.i.tude.