speech, the other goes out of my head. Discouraging,
isn't it? Good night."

The next day but one was the day of the first
full rehearsal. On the previous evening Mrs.
Vanstone's spirits had been sadly depressed. At
a private interview with Miss Garth, she had
referred again, of her own accord, to the subject
of her letter from London—had spoken self-
reproachfully of her weakness in admitting Captain
Wragge's impudent claim to a family connexion
with her—and had then reverted to the
state of her health, and to the doubtful prospect
that awaited her in the coming summer, in a
tone of despondency which it was very distressing
to hear. Anxious to cheer her spirits, Miss
Garth had changed the conversation as soon as
possible—had referred to the approaching
theatrical performance—and had relieved Mrs.
Vanstone's mind of all anxiety in that direction, by
announcing her intention of accompanying
Magdalen to each rehearsal, and of not losing sight
of her until she was safely back again in her
father's house. Accordingly, when Frank
presented himself at Combe-Raven on the eventful
morning, there stood Miss Garth, prepared—in
the interpolated character of Argus—to accompany
Lucy and Falkland to the scene of trial. The
railway conveyed the three, in excellent time, to
Evergreen Lodge; and at one o'clock the rehearsal
began.

CHAPTER VI.

"I HOPE Miss Vanstone knows her part?"
whispered Mrs. Marrable, anxiously addressing
herself to Miss Garth, in a corner of the theatre.

"If airs and graces make an actress, ma'am,
Magdalen's performance will astonish us all."
With that reply, Miss Garth took out her work,
and seated herself, on guard, in the centre of
the pit.

The manager perched himself, book in hand,
on a stool close in front of the stage. He was
an active little man, of a sweet and cheerful
temper; and he gave the signal to begin, with as
patient an interest in the proceedings as if they
had caused him no trouble in the past, and
promised him no difficulty in the future. The two
characters which open the comedy of The
Rivals, " Fag" and the " Coachman," appeared
on the scene—looked many sizes too tall for their
canvas background, which represented a " Street
in Bath"—exhibited the customary inability to
manage their own arms, legs, and voices—went
out severally at the wrong exits—and expressed
their perfect approval of results, so far, by laughing
heartily behind the scenes. " Silence, gentlemen,
if you please," remonstrated the cheerful
manager. "As loud as you like on the stage,
but the audience mustn't hear you off it. Miss
Marrable ready? Miss Vanstone ready? Easy
there with the ' Street in Bath;' it's going up
crooked! Face this way, Miss Marrable; full
face, if you please. Miss Vanstone—' He
checked himself suddenly. " Curious," he said,
under his breath—" she fronts the audience of
her own accord!" Lucy opened the scene in
these words: " Indeed, ma'am, I traversed half
the town in search of it: I don't believe there's a
circulating library in Bath I haven't been at."
The manager started in his chair. " My heart
alive! she speaks out without telling!" The
dialogue went on. Lucy produced the novels
for Miss Lydia Languish's private reading from
under her cloak. The manager rose excitably
to his feet. Marvellous! No hurry with the
books; no dropping them. She looked at the
titles before she announced them to her mistress;
she set down " Humphry Clinker" on "The Tears
of Sensibility" with a smart little smack which
pointed the antithesis. One moment—and she
announced Julia's visit; another—and she dropped
the brisk waiting-maid's curtsey; a third—and
she was off the stage instantly, on the side set
down for her in the book. The manager wheeled
round in his chair, and looked hard at Miss Garth.
"1 beg your pardon, ma'am," he said. "Miss
Marrable told me, before we began, that this was
the young lady's first attempt. It can't be,
surely?"

"It is," replied Miss Garth, reflecting the
manager's look of amazement on her own face.
Was it possible that Magdalen's unintelligible
industry in the study of her part, really sprang
from a serious interest in her occupation—an
interest which implied a natural fitness for it?

The rehearsal went on. The stout lady with
the wig (and the excellent heart) personated the
sentimental Julia from an inveterately tragic
point of view, and used her handkerchief distractedly
in the first scene. The spinster-relative
felt Mrs. Malaprop's mistakes in language so
seriously, and took such extraordinary pains
with her blunders, that they sounded more like
exercises in elocution than anything else. The
unhappy lad who led the forlorn hope of the
company, in the person of " Sir Antony Absolute,"
expressed the age and irascibility of his
character by tottering incessantly at the knees,
and thumping the stage perpetually with his
stick. Slowly and clumsily, with constant interruptions,
and interminable mistakes, the first act
dragged on, until Lucy appeared again to end it
in soliloquy, with the confession of her assumed
simplicity and the praise of her own cunning.

Here, the stage artifice of the situation presented
difficulties which Magdalen had not
encountered in the first scene—and here, her total
want of experience led her into more than one
palpable mistake. The stage-manager, with an
eagerness which he had not shown in the case of
any other member of the company, interfered
immediately, and set her right. At one point,
she was to pause, and take a turn on the stage—
she did it. At another, she was to stop, toss
her head, and look pertly at the audience—she
did it. When she took out the paper to read the
list of the presents she had received, could she
give it a tap with her finger (Yes)? And lead
off with a little laugh (Yes—after twice trying)?
Could she read the different items with a sly look
at the end of each sentence, straight at the pit
(Yes, straight at the pit, and as sly as you
please)? The manager's cheerful face beamed