to mistake me.I am happy. I am glad she will marry'--I think she tried to say a name,but I could not catch it--I tell her to marry him, and that I am _very_glad."
A sob broke from Maggie Oliphant's lips. "You might have told mebefore!" she said, in a choked voice.
CHAPTER THIRTY TWO.
"THE PRINCESS."
The great event of the term was to take place that evening. _ThePrincess_ was to be acted by the girls of St Benet's, and, by the kindpermission of Miss Vincent, the Principal of the entire college, severalvisitors were invited to witness the entertainment. The members of theDramatic Society had taken immense pains; the rehearsals had been many,the dresses all carefully chosen, the scenery appropriate--in short, nopains had been spared to render this lovely poem of Tennyson's adramatic success. The absence of Rosalind Merton had, for a short time,caused a little dismay among the actors. She had been cast for the partof Melissa--
"A rosy blonde, and in a college gown That clad her like an April daffodilly."
But now it must be taken by someone else.
Little Ada Hardy, who was about Rosalind's height, and had the realinnocence which, alas! poor Rosalind lacked, was sent for in a hurry,and, carefully drilled by Constance Field and Maggie Oliphant, by thetime the night arrived she was sufficiently prepared to act thecharacter, slight in itself, which was assigned to her. The otheractors were, of course, fully prepared to take their several parts, anda number of girls were invested in the
"Academic silks, in hue The lilac, with a silken hood to each, And zonedwith gold."
Nothing could have been more picturesque, and there was a buzz of heartyapplause from the many spectators who crowded the galleries and frontseats of the little theatre when the curtain rose on the well-knowngarden scene, where the Prince, Florian, and Cyril saw the maidens ofthat first college for women--that poet's vision, so amply fulfilled inthe happy life at St Benet's.
"There One walk'd, reciting by herself, and one In this hand held a volume as to read, And smoothed a petted peacock down with that: Some to a low song oar'd a shallop by, Or under arches of the marble bridge Hung, shadow'd from the heat: some hid and sought In the orange thickets: others tost a ball Above the fountain jets, and back again With laughter: others lay about the lawns, Of the older sort, and murmur'd that their May Was passing: what was learning unto them? They wish'd to marry: they could rule a house; Men hated learned women..."
The girls walked slowly about amongst the orange groves and by thefountain jets. In the distance the chapel bells tolled faint and sweet.More maidens appeared, and Tennyson's lovely lines were againrepresented with such skill, the effect of multitude was so skilfullymanaged, that the
"Six hundred maidens, clad in purest white," appeared really to fill thegardens.
"While the great organ almost burst his pipes, Groaning for power, and rolling thro' the court A long melodious thunder to the sound Of solemn psalms, and silver litanies."
The curtain fell, to rise in a few moments amid a burst of applause.The Princess herself now appeared for the first time on the littlestage. Nothing could have been more admirable than the grouping of thistableau. All the pride of mien, of race, of indomitable purpose wasvisible on the face of the young girl who acted the part of the PrincessIda.
"She stood Among her maidens, higher by the head, Her back against a pillar."
It was impossible, of course, to represent the tame leopards, but themaidens who gathered round the Princess prevented this want beingapparent, and Maggie Oliphant's attitude, and the expression whichfilled her bright eyes, left nothing to be desired.
"Perfect!" exclaimed the spectators: the interest of everyone presentwas more than aroused; each individual in the little theatre felt,though no one could exactly tell why, that Maggie was not merely actingher part, she was living it.
Suddenly she raised her head, and looked steadily at the visitors in thegallery: a wave of rosy red swept over the whiteness of her face. Itwas evident that she had encountered a glance which disturbed hercomposure.
The play proceeded brilliantly, and now the power and originality ofPriscilla's acting divided the attention of the house. Surely therenever was a more impassioned Prince.
Priscilla could sing; her voice was not powerful, but it was low andrather deeply set. The well-known and familiar song with which thePrince tried to woo Ida lost little at her hands.
"O Swallow, Swallow, flying, flying South, Fly to her, and fall upon her gilded eaves, And tell her, tell her, what I tell to thee.
"O tell her, Swallow, thou that knowest each, That bright and fierce and fickle is the South, And dark and true and tender is the North.
"Why lingereth she to clothe her heart with love, Delaying as the tender ash delays To clothe herself, when all the woods are green?
"O tell her, brief is life but love is long, And brief the sun of summer in the North, And brief the moon of beauty in the South.
"O Swallow, flying from the golden woods, Fly to her, and pipe and woo her, and make her mine, And tell her, tell her, that I follow thee."
The wooing which followed made a curious impression; this impression wasnot only produced upon the house, but upon both Prince and Princess.
Priscilla, too, had encountered Hammond's earnest gaze. That gaze firedher heart, and she became once again not herself but he; poor, awkward,and _gauche_ little Prissie sank out of sight; she was Hammond pleadinghis own cause, she was wooing Maggie for him in the words of Tennyson'sPrince. This fact was the secret of Priscilla's power; she had felt itmore or less whenever she acted the part of the Prince; but, on thisoccasion, she communicated the sensations which animated her own breastto Maggie. Maggie, too, felt that Hammond was speaking to her throughPriscilla's voice.
"I cannot cease to follow you, as they say The seal does music; who desire you more Than growing boys their manhood; dying lips, With many thousand matters left to do, The breath of life; O more than poor men wealth, Than sick men health--yours, yours, not mine--but half Without you; with you, whole; and of those halves You worthiest, and howe'er you block and bar Your heart with system out from mine, I hold That it becomes no man to nurse despair, But in the teeth of clench'd antagonisms To follow up the worthiest till he die."
In the impassioned reply which followed this address it was noticed forthe first time by the spectators that Maggie scarcely did herselfjustice. Her exclamation--
"_I_ wed with thee! _I_, bound by precontract Your bride, your bond-slave!"
was scarcely uttered with the scorn which such a girl would throw intothe words if her heart went with them.
The rest of the play proceeded well; the Prince following up hisadvantage, until his last words--
"Accomplish thou my manhood and thyself; Lay thy sweet hands in mine and trust to me,"
brought down the house with ringing applause.
The curtain fell and rose again. The Prince and Princess stood withhands clasped. The eyes of the conquered Princess looked again at thepeople in the gallery, but the eyes she wanted to see did not meet hers.
An hour later Maggie Oliphant had occasion to go back to the forsakengreen-room to fetch a bracelet she had left there. Priscilla wasstanding in the corridor when she passed. Quick as lightning Prissiedisappeared, and, making her way into the library, which was thrown openfor a general reception that evening, sought out Hammond, and, takinghis hand, said, abruptly--
"I want you; come with me."
In surprise he followed her into the hall.
"Maggie is in the green-room; go to her," said Priscilla.
He raised his brows; his eyes seemed to lighten, and then grow dark.They asked Priscilla a thousand questions; his lips refused to ask one.
Replying to the look in his eyes, Priscilla said again: "It is cruel ofyou to leave her alone. Go to her; she is waiting for you--and oh, Iknow that her heart has been waiting for you for a long, long time."
r /> "If I thought that," said Hammond's eyes.
He turned without a word, and went down the long corridor which led tothe little theatre.
Late that evening, after all the bustle and excitement were over, andmost of the guests had left, Miss Heath was standing in her ownsitting-room talking to Prissie.
"And you have quite made up your mind, Prissie?"
"Yes," answered Priscilla. "I heard from Aunt Raby to-day; she told meall about Mr Hammond's visit, for Mr Hayes went to see her, and toldher everything."
"Well, Prissie," said Miss Heath, "what have you decided? It is a greatchance for you, and there is nothing wrong in it; indeed, for aught wecan tell, this may be the direct guiding of Providence."
"But I don't think it is," said Priscilla, in a slow voice. "I havethought