about my question, and the answer?
'Strong as death,' you are sure?"

For answer I strained her to my heart.

O fool and blind! O fool and blind!

The night that was big with Tom's fate had come. The Coliseum was
crowded as we entered. In those days the theatre had no stalls, so
we sat in the front row of the dress circle, Tom having in his
modesty refused a box. He was behind the scenes until some five
minutes before the play began, so that before he joined me I had
ample time to study the house and look about for some sign of Claire.

Certainly, the sedulous manner in which the new tragedy had been
advertised was not without result. To me, unused as I was to
theatre-going, the host of people, the hot air, the glare of the
gas-lights were intoxicating. In a flutter of anxiety for Tom's
success, of sweet perturbation at the prospect of meeting Claire, at
first I could grasp but a confused image of the scene. By degrees,
however, I began to look about me, and then to scan the audience
narrowly for sight of my love.

Surely I should note her at once among thousands. Yet my first
glance was fruitless. I looked again, examined the house slowly face
by face, and again was baffled. I could see all but a small portion
of the pit, the upper boxes and gallery. Pit and gallery were out of
the question. She might, though it was hardly likely, be in the tier
just above, and I determined to satisfy myself after the end of Act
I. Meantime I scanned the boxes. There were twelve on either side
of the house, and all were full. By degrees I satisfied myself that
strangers occupied all of them, except the box nearest the stage on
the right of the tier where I was sitting. The occupants of this
were out of sight. Only a large yellow and black fan was swaying
slowly backwards and forwards to tell me that somebody sat there.

Somehow, the slow, ceaseless motion of this pricked my curiosity.
Its pace, as it waved to and fro, was unaltered; the hand that moved
it seemingly tireless; but even the hand was hidden. Not a finger
could I gain a glimpse of. By some silly freak of fancy I was
positively burning with eagerness to see the fan's owner, when Tom
returned and took his seat beside me.

"It begins in five minutes; everything is ready," said he, and his
voice had a nervous tremor which he sought in vain to hide.

"Courage!" I said; "at least the numbers here should flatter you."

"They frighten me! What shall