tect in these auditors the same feeling of
security, of satisfaction, of comfort with which they were accustomed to
sit down of an evening with a new book by a favorite author.

"If I could but win a place like that," he exclaimed to himself, "I
would be satisfied. It can be done when the right man comes."

A dinner engagement delayed the eminent author, but he came in as the
curtain was rising, and, shaking hands cordially, presented Mr. Rufus
Brown, a visiting London critic.

"Mr. Brown is deeply interested in your attempt to do an American play,"
said the great novelist. "I hope--I am sure he will witness your triumph
to-night." Thereupon they took seats with flattering promptness in order
not to miss a word of the play.

Helen, coming on a moment after, was given a greeting almost frenziedly
cordial, and when she bowed her eyes sought the box in which her lover
sat, and the audience, seeing the distinguished novelist and feeling
some connection between them, renewed their applause. Douglass, at the
back of the box, rose and stood with intent to express to Helen the
admiration, the love, and the respect which he felt for her. She was,
indeed, "the beautiful, golden-haired lady" of whom he had written as a
boy, and a singular timidity, a wave of worship went over him.

He became the imaginative lad of the play, who stood in awe and worship
of mature womanhood. The familiar Helen was gone, the glittering woman
was gone, and in her place stood the ideal of the boy--the author
himself had returned to "the land of morning glow"--to the time when the
curl of a woman's lip was greater than any war. The boy on the stage
chanted:

"Where I shall find her I know not.
But I trust in the future! To me
She will come. I am not forgot.
Out in the great world she's waiting,
Perhaps by the shore of the sea,
By the fabulous sea, where the white sand gleams,
I shall meet her and know her and claim her.
The beautiful, stately lady I see in my dreams."

"I dare not claim her," said the man, humbled by her beauty. "I am not
worthy of her."

The applause continued to rise instant and cordial in support of players
and play. Auditors, actors, and author seemed in singularly harmonious
relation. As the curtain fell cries of approval mingled with the
hand-clapping.

The novelist reached a kindly hand. "You've found your public, my dear
fellow. These people are here after an intelligent study of your other
plays. T