The Columbian. [volume] (Bloomsburg, Pa.) 1866-1910, 1894-04-20

They say that OF so many OF tncsc
matinee shows, and they're generally
such rot!'
what play Is that, II l may ask"
INQUIRED II man who had just caught
the last words.
The speaker was an uncommonly
handsome man. apparently about
thirty-six or thlrty-seven, but he had
reckless look, not pleasant to see.
4 cautious man would think twice
before Introducing this gentleman into
his home. for besides his personal good
looks. he had n sweet-toned voice and
an attractive address, and with these
weapons of attack he could easily
conquer women's hearts, breaking
them afterwards at his leisure.
The "baclScr' answered him. ~
piece written by Mrs. Clavering, the
novelist. She's not prentice hand.
Some one-act plays of hers have been
done already"
II remember reading one OF her
novels; It was clever" said Mr.. Leslie.
whats the play aboutY' You noticed.
when he spoke, that his English was
slightly tinged with foreign accent.
That was natural enough, for his life,
since his youth, had been passed
abroad, and he had only come to Eng
land about a month ago.
II can't tell you; story out OF the
beaten track, they say, again. l shall
be able to send you stall, If you care
to go. You needn't sit 1t out II you
are too much bred"
Wilmot Leslie was already a favOritc
with the men who knew him. In this
topsy-turvey world it often happens
that the least worthy are the most at
tractive.
Thanks, Leslie answered, al shall
be very pleased to go. A trial matinee
Is something of Il novelty 10 me. you
know. One doesn't have them
abroad
mo, thank heavenv' groaned the
actor-manager and Leslie laughed, but
his laugh was not Hirthful; 1t would
not strike you that he was a happy
man. Perhaps, like good many, he
was trying to live down his conscience.
Some one suggest ted cards, and Il move
was made to the card-room.
There Leslie proved 'plungor," but
he generally won, and keen observer
of human nature might have noticed
that there was something fictitious in
his excitement-as If he were keeping
up the steam, as it were, to prevent
Ills iuutT SSil usSeTlluS ltSelI. Al
Il. m. he walked through the growing
dawn to the chambers, but the ghosts
that fitted along by his side all the
way followed him in and kept their
silent watch, ghosts OF evil deeds and
missspent hours. There was one ghost
that came nearer to him than the
others and looked at him with the
eyes of unutteable pain and sorrow.
He covered his face, but he saw these
eyes all the same; he called himself
fool and cursed his nervous mood"
but the spectres never stirred. and
the sad eyes grew sadder-that was
ALL
II have done with 1t allv he cried,
with reckless laugh. I'm getting
sentimental. Pouf! I'll settle ac-
counts with n six-shooter If l can't get
rid of these fancies any other way.
It's too late to bark back
The day of the matinee came. The
play was called Opal" from the
legend of that beautiful stone that
glows bright while the love of the
wearer for the giver burns clear and
strong, and grows dim when love fal-
terS and fails. Eeslie's stall was in the
last row. and he knew none of the
people near him: his acquaintances In
England were at at present not many.
He looked careless'y over his pro-
gramme. and bit his lip for a mo-
ment with quickdrawn breath: his
tongue almost whispered the name of
the heroine, Margaret. But the name
Is common enough. He listened to the
clatter of the people about him mostly
professionals-not because it had any
interest for him, but because he hail
ed anything that took his attention
away from rospection-anything
that drove the ghosts little further
away.
The curtain rose; the play began.
Leslie listened at first with the languid
indifference Of the blase playgoer. BY
and by he became Interested; he
watched and list, ned intently. He
held his breath when the hero flung
his wife from him and went out. 1t
was the close of the act and the peo-
pie in front applauded. all except VIII
mot Leslie. He did not stir.
In the second act the interest deep
ened: the man In the stalls with the
handsome. reckless face was enthrall-
ed. The fellow in the play was haunt
ed-so was he, Wilmot Leslie He
scarcely heard the applause; never
llIteu Il uuuu-llOW cOulu ne! fOF llllS
was not n play-it was reality. Mar
garet loves her husband through all
through unfaith and desertion and all
his piled-up sins against her. Bah!
ii is a playa woman's sentimental
notions. Let the author be tried. She
She would not keep the opal bright.
The man wasn't worth one tea of hers
Let him be cast out and be forgotten,
as he deserved.
And now came the third and last
act. where the husband is prevented
from committing the crime he medi-
tates; and in the end, in beautifully
written scene-which alone, said the
critics afterwards ought to make the
fortune of the play-Margarey forgive
the man who so bitterly wronged her.
Wilmot Leslie. white as death-yet
otherwise masking, for pride's sake,
the agony in his heart-listened to the
words every one of which stabbed him
with fatal blows. A play-yes. only
Dlay!-but oh; that there could be for