r rank. The deposed duke, Sebastian, does not recognise
Valentine, and consigns him, with his wife, to a cave, under guard of
the brigands. It is settled by Sebastian that on the morrow
Valentine is to go and fetch a ransom, leaving his wife behind.
Francesca, having plied the guards with drink, enters by night into
the cave where they lie captive, is recognised by them, and offers to
change dresses with Julia in order that husband and wife may escape.
A fine scene follows of insistence and self-reproach, but ultimately
Francesca prevails. Valentine and Julia pass out in the grey dawn,
and Francesca, left alone, stabs herself. The play concludes as her
father enters the cave and discovers his daughter's corpse.

The first scene (which is placed at the court of Bologna) passed
without disaster, and the curtain fell for a moment before it rose
upon the mountain pass. Hitherto the audience had been chilly.
They did not hiss, but neither did they applaud; and I could feel,
without being able to give any definite reason for the impression,
that so far the play had failed. Tom saw it too. I did not dare to
look in his face, but could tell his agony by his short and laboured
breathing. Luckily his torture did not last long, for the curtain
quickly rose for Scene 2.

The scene was beautifully painted and awakened a momentary enthusiasm
in the audience. It died away, however, as Sebastian and Valentine
entered. The dialogue between them was short, and Valentine was very
soon left alone to a rather dull soliloquy (since shortened) which
began to weary the audience most unmistakably. I caught the sound of
a faint hiss, saw one or two people yawning; and then--

Stealing, rising, swelling, gathering as it thrilled the ear all
graces and delights of perfect sound; sweeping the awed heart with
touch that set the strings quivering to an ecstasy that was almost
pain; breathing through them in passionate whispering; hovering,
swaying, soaring upward to the very roof, then shivering down again
in celestial shower of silver--there came a voice that trod all
conceptions, all comparisons, all dreams to scorn; a voice beyond
hope, beyond belief; a voice that in its unimaginable beauty seemed
to compel the very heaven to listen.

And yet--surely I knew--surely it could not be--

I must be dreaming--mad! The bare notion was incredible--and even as
my heart spoke the words, the theatre grew dim and shadowy; the vast
sea of fac