Like one in a dream he listened and looked. He heard _Romeo_ exclaim in deep and pa.s.sionate accents:

"'Lady, by yonder blessed moon I swear, That tips with silver all these fruit-tree tops--'"

And _Juliet_ interrupted in those silver-sweet tones so strangely familiar to his ear:

"'Oh! swear not by the moon, th' inconstant moon, That monthly changes in her circled orb, Lest that thy love prove likewise variable.'"

With those words:

"Oh! swear not by the moon, th' inconstant moon,"

_Juliet_ raised her eyes that had been downcast and fixed on her lover, and looked upward as if to gaze upon the fair orb of which she spoke.

In that moment her dark-blue eyes, shining like stars of the night, encountered the fixed and pa.s.sionate gaze of the handsome man in the box above her. She started--it was not his dreaming fancy--it was too palpable to all--recovered herself with an effort, and went on in a voice that trembled in spite of her brave endeavor:

"'That monthly changes in her circled orb, Lest that thy love prove likewise variable.'"

"Great G.o.d! It is Queenie herself! Do the dead come back from the grave?

I must see her, speak to her!" exclaimed Captain Ernscliffe, in a pa.s.sionate undertone, as he sprang up and turned toward the box door.

Lord Valentine, who had watched him attentively, caught him by the arm.

"Ernscliffe, are you mad? We all see the resemblance. It is accidental, of course. What would you do?"

Ernscliffe shook off his grasp roughly.

"Yes, I am mad!" he exclaimed, "for I believe that the dead is alive, and that yonder _Juliet_ is my lost bride, Queenie Lyle!"

He opened the box door with a shaking hand and rushed wildly out.

La Reine Blanche went on with her part and acted more brilliantly than ever. She surpa.s.sed herself. She seemed under the influence of some strong excitement that lent new power and force to her superb rendition of _Juliet_. The vast and brilliant audience was fairly carried away.

At the close of the second act flowers fairly rained upon her. She was called back before the curtain and the thunders of applause shook the building.

Then the manager came to her with a little bit of pasteboard in his hand.

"Madame De Lisle," he said, "there is a gentleman outside who is so opportune in his desire to see you that I was forced to bring you his card, although I know you always refuse to make men acquaintances."

She took the card and read the name:

"Lawrence Ernscliffe."

"Will you see him?" asked the manager, seeing that she stood silent as if hesitating.

"No, no," she answered. "Tell him he must excuse me--I have to dress for my part in the third act."

The manager turned away and the beautiful actress pressed her lips pa.s.sionately upon the insensible little bit of pasteboard she held in her white and jeweled hand.

"At last, at last!" she murmured, "yet I must not meet him to-night. I could not go on with my part--it would unfit me for anything. I must postpone my long-sought happiness yet a little longer. To-morrow--ah, _to-morrow_!"

She walked up and down, pressing her hands on her wildly beating heart as if to still its convulsive throbs.

"They say that happiness never kills," she said. "If it were otherwise I should feel afraid--my heart aches with joy--it seems as if it would burst, it is so full of happy emotion!"

She went back on the stage and a timid glance showed her Lawrence Ernscliffe back in the box looking terribly restless and disappointed.

She was afraid to meet his eyes again, but she knew that he watched her through every scene, devouring every movement with pa.s.sionate, yearning eyes.

At the close of the act she saw a lovely bouquet thrown from his hand, and picking it up she discovered a tiny note among the flowers.

When the curtain fell she read the hastily penciled lines:

"MADAME DE LISLE:--For G.o.d's sake let me see you, if only for a moment. I _must_ speak to you; I shall go mad if you don't take pity on my anxiety and grant an interview to

"LAWRENCE ERNSCLIFFE."

Tears came into the eyes of the beautiful actress as she read those lines; but when after another act the same card was handed her, she again refused to see the writer on pretence of dressing for her next appearance.

"To-morrow," she murmured to herself, "I will see him. To-night I cannot, I am utterly exhausted, I _must_ have rest."

When the play was over she came out on the arm of the manager, her maid on the other side of her. As she stepped into her carriage she saw a dark, handsome face regarding her earnestly and a little reproachfully.

The closing door sent it from sight, and she was whirled away to her hotel. She did not know that Captain Ernscliffe had sprung into a cab and followed her.

Neither did Captain Ernscliffe know that a mysterious-looking lady, heavily cloaked and veiled, had gotten into another cab and followed him.

It was Sydney, driven to desperation by her jealous misery.

She had returned to the theater _sub rosa_, and been a witness to Captain Ernscliffe's agitated recognition of the actress, and his subsequent persistent attempt to secure an interview with her. Heedless of everything, and rendered reckless by her indefinable dread of some impending evil, she determined to follow him and prevent, if possible, an interview between him and the brilliant actress who so strikingly resembled his lost and lamented bride.

It was midnight when the three vehicles drew up before the grand entrance of the hotel where La Reine Blanche had her elegant suite of apartments. She was crossing the pavement on the arm of her elderly duenna when a light touch arrested her footsteps. She turned and looked into the face of Captain Ernscliffe. It was white, wild, eager.

"One word, if you please, Madame De Lisle," he exclaimed, in an eager, agitated voice.

She paused a moment and clung tremblingly to the arm of her attendant.

"That is impossible to-night, sir," she answered in a low, constrained voice. "Call on me to-morrow at noon. I will hear you then."

Without another word she turned and fled up the steps. He stood looking at her blankly a moment, then re-entered his cab and was driven away. He did not notice the heavily-draped figure of a woman that had stood almost at his elbow, and that now ran lightly up the hotel steps, into the wide, lighted hall.

CHAPTER XXIII.

La Reine Blanche went directly to her dressing-room, where her maid divested her of her heavy wrappings and out-door costume, and subst.i.tuted a dressing-gown of white Turkish silk confined at the waist by gold cord and ta.s.sels. Then she took down the burnished golden hair, and prepared to brush and plait it for the night.

As she took up the pearl-handled brush there came a timid, hesitating rap at the outer door. Madame De Lisle started and trembled.