t time.
The accents were those of Miss Matilda Johnson.

One thought rushed into both their minds on the instant, and Bob was the
first to utter it.

'What--is she the woman of his choice after all?'

'If so, it is a dreadful thing!' murmured Anne.

But, as may be imagined, the unfortunate John was as much surprised by
this rencounter as the other two. Until this moment he had been in utter
ignorance of the theatrical company and all that pertained to it.
Moreover, much as he knew of Miss Johnson, he was not aware that she had
ever been trained in her youth as an actress, and that after lapsing into
straits and difficulties for a couple of years she had been so fortunate
as to again procure an engagement here.

The trumpet-major, though not prominently seated, had been seen by
Matilda already, who had observed still more plainly her old betrothed
and Anne in the other part of the house. John was not concerned on his
own account at being face to face with her, but at the extraordinary
suspicion that this conjuncture must revive in the minds of his best
beloved friends. After some moments of pained reflection he tapped his
knee.

'Gad, I won't explain; it shall go as it is!' he said. 'Let them think
her mine. Better that than the truth, after all.'

Had personal prominence in the scene been at this moment proportioned to
intentness of feeling, the whole audience, regal and otherwise, would
have faded into an indistinct mist of background, leaving as the sole
emergent and telling figures Bob and Anne at one point, the trumpet-major
on the left hand, and Matilda at the opposite corner of the stage. But
fortunately the deadlock of awkward suspense into which all four had
fallen was terminated by an accident. A messenger entered the King's box
with despatches. There was an instant pause in the performance. The
despatch-box being opened the King read for a few moments with great
interest, the eyes of the whole house, including those of Anne Garland,
being anxiously fixed upon his face; for terrible events fell as
unexpectedly as thunderbolts at this critical time of our history. The
King at length beckoned to Lord ---, who was immediately behind him, the
play was again stopped, and the contents of the despatch were publicly
communicated to the audience.

Sir Robert Calder, cruising off Finisterre, had come in sight of
Villeneuve, and made the signal for action, which, though checked by the
weather, had resu