When the eventful hour came, yesterday, Willie and I were the only actors really willing to take lovers' parts, save Jamie and Ralph, who were but too anxious to play all the characters, whatever their age, sex, colour, or relations. But the guests knew nothing of these trivial disagreements, and at ten o'clock last night it would have been difficult to match Rowardennan Castle for a scene of beauty and revelry. Everything went merrily till we came to Hynde Horn, the concluding tableau, and the most effective and elaborate one on the programme. At the very last moment, when the opening scene was nearly ready, Jean Dalziel fell down a secret staircase that led from the tapestry chamber into Lady Ardmore's boudoir, where the rest of us were dressing. It was a short flight of steps, but as she held a candle, and was carrying her costume, she fell awkwardly, spraining her wrist and ankle. Finding that she was not maimed for life, Lady Ardmore turned with comical and unsympathetic haste to Francesca, so completely do amateur theatricals dry the milk of kindness in the human breast.
"Put on these clothes at once," she said imperiously, knowing nothing of the volcanoes beneath the surface. "Hynde Horn is already on the stage, and somebody must be Jean. Take care of Miss Dalziel, girls, and ring for more maids. Helene, come and dress Miss Monroe; put on her slippers while I lace her gown; run and fetch more jewels,--more still,--she can carry off any number; not any rouge, Helene--she has too much colour now; pull the frock more off the shoulders--it's a pity to cover an inch of them; pile her hair higher--here, take my diamond tiara, child; hurry, Helene, fetch the silver cup and the cake--no, they are on the stage; take her train, Helene. Miss Hamilton, run and open the doors ahead of them, please. I won't go down for this tableau. I'll put Miss Dalziel right, and then I'll slip into the drawing-room, to be ready for the guests when they come in."
We hurried breathlessly through an interminable series of rooms and corridors. I gave the signal to Mr. Beresford, who was nervously waiting for it in the wings, and the curtain went up on Hynde Horn disguised as the auld beggar man at the king's gate. Mr. Beresford was reading the ballad, and we took up the tableaux at the point where Hynde Horn has come from a far countrie to see why the diamonds in the ring given him by his own true love have grown pale and wan. He hears that the king's daughter Jean has been married to a knight these nine days past.
`But unto him a wife the bride winna be, For love of Hynde Horn, far over the sea.'
He therefore borrows the old beggar's garments and hobbles to the king's palace, where he petitions the porter for a cup of wine and a bit of cake to be handed him by the fair bride herself.
`"Good porter, I pray, for Saints Peter and Paul, And for sake of the Saviour who died for us all, For one cup of wine and one bit of bread, To an auld man with travel and hunger bestead.
And ask the fair bride, for the sake of Hynde Horn, To hand them to me so sadly forlorn."
Then the porter for pity the message convey'd, And told the fair bride all the beggar man said.'
The curtain went up again. The porter, moved to pity, has gone to give the message to his lady. Hynde Horn is watching the staircase at the rear of the stage, his heart in his eyes. The tapestries that hide it are drawn, and there stands the king's daughter, who tripped down the stair--`And in her fair hands did lovingly bear A cup of red wine, and a farle of cake, To give the old man for loved Hynde Horn's sake.'
The hero of the ballad, who had not seen his true love for seven long years, could not have been more amazed at the change in her than was Ronald Macdonald at the sight of the flushed, excited, almost tearful king's daughter on the staircase, Lady Ardmore's diamonds flashing from her crimson satin gown, Lady Ardmore's rubies glowing on her white arms and throat; not Miss Dalziel, as had been arranged, but Francesca, rebellious, reluctant, embarrassed, angrily beautiful and beautifully angry!
In the next scene Hynde Horn has drained the cup and dropped the ring into it.
`"Oh, found you that ring by sea or on land, Or got you that ring off a dead man's hand?"
"Oh, I found not that ring by sea or on land, But I got that ring from a fair lady's hand.
As a pledge of true love she gave it to me, Full seven years ago as I sail'd o'er the sea;
But now that the diamonds are changed in their hue, I know that my love has to me proved untrue."'
I never saw a prettier picture of sweet, tremulous womanhood, a more enchanting, breathing image of fidelity, than Francesca looked as Mr. Beresford read:-`"Oh, I will cast off my gay costly gown, And follow thee on from town unto town;
And I will take the gold kaims from my hair, And follow my true love for evermair."'
Whereupon Hynde Horn lets his beggar weeds fall, and shines there the foremost and noblest of all the king's companie as he says:-`"You need not cast off your gay costly gown, To follow me on from town unto town;
You need not take the gold kaims from your hair, For Hynde Horn has gold enough and to spare."
Then the bridegrooms were changed, and the lady re-wed To Hynde Horn thus come back, like one from the dead.'
There is no doubt that this tableau gained the success of the evening, and the participants in it should have modestly and gratefully received the choruses of congratulation that were ready to be offered during the supper and dance that followed. Instead of that, what happened? Francesca drove home with Miss Dalziel before the quadrille d'honneur, and when Willie bade me good night at the gate in the loaning, he said, "I shall not be early to-morrow, dear.
I am going to see Macdonald off."
"Off!" I exclaimed. "Where is he going?"
"Only to Edinburgh and London, to stay till the last of next week."
"But we may have left Pettybaw by that time."
"Of course; that is probably what he has in mind. But let me tell you this, Penelope: Macdonald is fathoms deep in love with Francesca, and if she trifles with him she shall know what I think of her!"
"And let me tell you this, sir: Francesca is fathoms deep in love with Ronald Macdonald, little as you suspect it, and if he trifles with her he shall know what I think of him!"
