losing himself in far-away, tropic islands, or the
ice-bound regions of the uttermost South. He could stay here. Sit quite
still even--and that was well, for he was horribly tired and spent. He
need only wait. When the time was ripe, they would do all the rest--do
it for him by doing it to him.--How finely simple it all was!
Incidentally he wondered if it would hurt very much. Not that that
mattered, for beyond lay peace. Only he hoped they would get to work
pretty soon, so that it might be over before the end of the second act,
when Powell, the valet, would come back.

Richard's face had grown very youthful and eager. His eyes were
unnaturally bright. And still he gazed down at that great company. His
heart went out to it. He loved it, loved each and every member of it,
as he had never conceived of loving heretofore. He would like to have
gone down among them and become part of them, one with them in purpose,
a partaker of their corporate strength. But that was forbidden. They
were his preordained executioners. Yet in that capacity they were not
the less, but the more, lovable. They were welcome to exact full
justice. He longed after them, longed after the pain it was their
mission to inflict.--And they were getting ready, surely they were
getting ready! There was a sensible movement among them. They turned
pale faces away from the brilliantly lighted stage, and towards the
great horseshoe of waxen cells enclosing them. They were busy,
dull-coloured insects again, and they buzzed--resentfully, angrily,
they buzzed.

Yet even while Dickie noted all this, greatly moved by it, appreciating
its inner meaning, its profound relation to himself and the drama of
his own existence, he was not wholly unmindful of the progress of the
opera and the charm of the graceful and fluent music which saluted his
ears. He was aware of the entrance of the hero, of his greeting by his
motley-clad followers. He felt kindly, just off the surface of his
emotion so to speak, towards this impersonator of Ernani. The young
actor's appearance was attractive, his voice fresh and sympathetic, his
bearing modest. But the aristocratic occupants of the boxes treated him
cavalierly. The famous Milanese tenor, whose name was on the programme,
having failed to arrive, this local, and comparatively inexperienced,
artist had been called upon to fill his part. Therefore the smart world
talked more loudly than before, while the democratic occupants of the
_