ess to some servant-suitor; and she was, indeed, most
lovable as she leaned back in the great throne-chair. She seemed a queen
and the theatre her realm. Her beautiful arms shone white in the
flickering candle-light. Her sceptre was a rose which the King of
England had given her.

Hart stepped back and looked upon the picture. "By heaven, Nell," he
cried, "I spoke in anger. You are the most marvellous actress in the
world. Nature, art and genius crown your work."

Nell smiled at his vehemence. "I begin to think that you have taste most
excellent," she said.

Hart sprang to her side, filled with hope. As the stage-lover he ne'er
spoke in tenderer tones. "Sweet Nell, when I found you in the pit, a
ragged orange-girl, I saw the sparkle in your eye, the bright
intelligence, the magic genius, which artists love. I claimed you for my
art, which is the art of arts--for it embraces all. I had the theatre. I
gave it you. You captured the Lane--then London. You captured my soul as
well, and held it slave."

"Did I do all that, dear Jack?" she asked, wistfully.

"And more," said Hart, rapturously. "You captured my years to come, my
hope, ambition, love--all. All centred in your heart and eyes, sweet
Nell, from the hour I first beheld you."

Nell's look was far away. "Is love so beautiful?" she murmured softly.
Her eye fell upon her sceptre-rose. "Yea, I begin to think it is." She
mused a moment, until the silence seemed to awaken her. She looked into
Hart's eyes again, sadly but firmly, then spoke as with an effort: "You
paint the picture well, dear Jack. Paint on." Her hand waved
commandingly.

"I could not paint ill with such a model," said he, his voice full of
adoration.

"Well said," she replied; "and by my troth, I have relented like you,
dear Jack. I admit you too can act--and marvellously well." She took his
trembling hand and descended from the throne. He tried once again to
embrace her, but she avoided him as before.

"Is't true?" he asked, eagerly, without observing the hidden meaning in
her voice.

"'Tis true, indeed--with proper emphasis and proper art and proper
intonation." She crossed the room, Hart following her.

"I scarce can live for joy," he breathed.

Nell leaned back upon the table and looked knowingly and deeply into
Hart's eyes. Her voice grew very low, but clear and full of meaning.

"In faith," she said, "I trow and sadly speak but true; for I am sad at
times--yea--very sad--when I obser