Bellows Falls times. [volume] (Bellows Falls, Vt.) 1856-1965, 1893-04-27

Torrance. All but a giggling young
miss and a young man with a large head
met with success.
The comedian made the most of his
time worn jokes and capers, and the
gamins near the heaven of painted blue
shrieked themselves hoarse in their &C.
stacies of delight-so hoarse that at the
appearance of Miss Renod, radiant in
glistening satin and glittering jewels,
their voices died away in whispered
"Ohs" and "Ahs" that surged through
the audience like the swish of wave on
a sandy beach.
Marianne Renod's performance was
wonderful. She had evidently reserved
her real powers for the actual perform
ance, and had given only an inkling of
her abilities at the rehearsals. Her voice
unsteady rich, melodious and mellow,
moved her hearers to tears in the great
scene of the third act where she begged
for her child.
After the fourth act we, were both
called before the curtain time and again,
but once out of her part Miss Renod re-
sumed the cold demeanOr toward her col
leagues which she had assumed after the
sudden outbursts of almost hysterical
hilarity at the first rehearsal.
hardly dared even to raise my eyes
to her face, and was sorely panied to see
that she avoided me most. Yet some
times on glancing up suddenly l have
been surprised to see her eyes intently
fixed upon me, but whenever 1 started
to address her she would simply walk
away before had spoken word.
Igrieved over her evident avoidance
of me, and it only served to deepen the
love which she had begun to inspire in
me from the very beginning until per-
feet volcano of affection and tenderness
for her seemed to rage within me.
Often and often l felt like saying to
her: "Marianne, love you, adore
you, be miDeH' But dared not; some
thing could not explain held me back.
did not know then, nor do I know
even now after the lapse of so many
years, why did not speak to her. Had
/ done so perhaps things would have
been different.
There are pictures that paint and bits
of folly that weave as sit dreaming,
dreaming in the fading twilight while
the Pickering fire casts strange, weird
reflections on the walls. A little ray of
light falls across quantity designed
ring upon my finger, making the stone,
a cat'seye, seem like thing of life
How it watches me, as if wondering
what had become of her who had worn
it before me! Even as I write the tears
are falling and the page before me is
blurred and blotted.
We had been playing short engage
ments in the south for nearly three
months. The play proved great sue
cess, mainly owing to Marianne's power
over her audiences.
One night we arrived in a sleepy little
town on the coast of Maryland. Two or
three stately and cherries old mansions
excepted, the houses looked tired and
ready to collapse at the first gust of
wind. The tree tops stiff1y bowed each
other good night and some of the more
forward ones seemed to brush against
each other in prim caress as, toward
dusk, we wended our way to the local
Academy Hall" through little groups
Of natives who nudged each other at
sight of the ''troopers."
The audience thai night was thorough
" in keeping with the place, yet when
Marianne Renod and myself appeared on
he scene each somnolent spectator woke
his neighbor with a jab of the elbow, "to
10 the honOrs." es f&f4
During the fourth and last act, just
prior to the great scene with me, saw
Marianne glance sharply at one of the
boxes, and then, with suppressed ex-
lead. | turned quickly to see what had
caused her emotion. The box contained
TWO women, one dark eyed and elderly,
The other young blonde, though not by
nature.
l did not like her face; pretty? Yes;
but coldly, smiling wicked face, and,
to my mind she appeared
rather vulgar, despite, or because of her
showily expensive finery. Between them
stood man of perhaps 50 years. He
was dark eyed and family resembled me.
One thing, however, noticed later on
that distinguished US. The other had a
deep red scar, about two inches in length
across the left cheek.
During my brief survey of the box
Marianne had become quite herself again
and continued with her part. Yet,
could feel her trembling when putting
her arms around my neck she came to
the words: ''Ernest, my love is yours,
yours alone!' She turned her face to
me and there was a tenderly pleading
look in her eyes. l looked into them
long and earnestly and thence my gaze
wandered over toward the
box and back to her, but still she retained
that supplicating look, and guessed
the truth: Marianne loved me. l had
won her at last! But the other? The
nan sitting yonder, what was he to her?
turned again toward him, his face wore
4 heavy scowl and half hooking smile
and the scar on his cheek stood out bold
and red, like little rill of blood.
/ do not know how we managed to fin
sh our scene. only remember sending
up silent but fervenJ prayer Of thanks
when the curtain fell between US and the
audience.
l dimly recollect Mr.. Wilcox's croak-
ing voice saving: "Been flirting on the
stage, Mr.. Hyde. Fine you ten.''
My knock at Marianne's dressing
room was answered by her maid who
handed me q little note. l read the fol-
lowing:
Dear Mr.. Hyde: Will you oblige me
BY taking me to the hotel? l will be
ready in ten minutes; wait for me at the
stage entrance. Yours,