ingers. He wanted their support
after this success to advance his schemes. Therefore he borrowed from
Clara, and she, entirely indifferent to all but the engrossing
development of the play, allowed Sir Henry to pay for her food, to give
her meals alone with him in the aquarium, and even to buy her clothes
and jewels. She took not the slightest interest in them, but, as it
seemed to give him pleasure to shower gifts and attentions upon her,
she suffered it, and never for a moment dreamed of the turn his
infatuation was taking.

As she progressed in her work she felt that she was achieving what she
desired, a passion for her art equal to Rodd's. For a time she had
thrust all thought of him aside, but as she gained in mastery and power
over the whole activity of the stage, he crept back into her mind, and
she could face him with a greater sense of equality, with more
understanding and without that jealousy the memory of which hurt
her.... She had acquired a sense of loyalty to art which was a greater
thing than loyalty to Charles. She had saved him, helped him, brought
him thus far. Henceforth he must learn to stand on his own feet. She
was glad that she had left him.

All these considerations seemed very remote as she worked her way
deeper and deeper into the play, which contained for her a reality
nowhere to be found in life. She became Ariel, a pure imagination,
moving in an enchanted air, singing of freedom and of a beauty beyond
all things visible.

'You are three men of sin, whom Destiny
That hath to instrument this lower world
And what is in't, the never-surfeited sea
Hath caused to belch up you; and on this island
Where man doth not inhabit...'

Casting spells upon others, she seemed to cast them upon her own life;
and it was incredible to her to think that she was the same Clara Day
who had come so gaily to London with Charles Mann to help him to
conquer his kingdom. The stage of the Imperium was to her, in truth, a
magic island where wonders were performed, and she by an inspiration,
more powerful than her own will, could with a touch transform all
things and persons around her; and when Sir Henry, rehearsing the
character of Prospero, said to her.--

'Then to the elements
Be free and fare you well.'

the words sounded deep in her heart, and she took them as a real
bidding to be free of all that had entangled and cramped her own life.
So she dreamed.

She had a rude