box.

The second act had been some time in progress, and was even drawing
towards a close, when the door opened and two persons entered and
ensconced themselves in the darkest of the shade. Francis could hardly
control his emotion. It was Mr. Vandeleur and his daughter. The blood
came and went in his arteries and veins with stunning activity; his ears
sang; his head turned. He dared not look lest he should awake
suspicion; his play-bill, which he kept reading from end to end and over
and over again, turned from white to red before his eyes; and when he
cast a glance upon the stage, it seemed incalculably far away, and he
found the voices and gestures of the actors to the last degree
impertinent and absurd.

From time to time he risked a momentary look in the direction which
principally interested him; and once at least he felt certain that his
eyes encountered those of the young girl. A shock passed over his body,
and he saw all the colours of the rainbow. What would he not have given
to overhear what passed between the Vandeleurs? What would he not have
given for the courage to take up his opera-glass and steadily inspect
their attitude and expression? There, for aught he knew, his whole life
was being decided--and he not able to interfere, not able even to follow
the debate, but condemned to sit and suffer where he was, in impotent
anxiety.

At last the act came to an end. The curtain fell, and the people around
him began to leave their places for the interval. It was only natural
that he should follow their example; and if he did so, it was not only
natural but necessary that he should pass immediately in front of the
box in question. Summoning all his courage, but keeping his eyes
lowered, Francis drew near the spot. His progress was slow, for the old
gentleman before him moved with incredible deliberation, wheezing as he
went. What was he to do? Should he address the Vandeleurs by name as he
went by? Should he take the flower from his button-hole and throw it
into the box? Should he raise his face and direct one long and
affectionate look upon the lady who was either his sister or his
betrothed? As he found himself thus struggling among so many
alternatives, he had a vision of his old equable existence in the bank,
and was assailed by a thought of regret for the past.

By this time he had arrived directly opposite the box; and although he
was still undetermined what to do or whether to do anything, he turned