Waterbury evening Democrat., 1904-03-09
]" In a Stage Box' 7
 By JULIA M. KNIGHT

dawned upon his sight, radiant vision of youth; began to haunt his 1 thoughts, to intrude upon the privacy
 of his art. Yet 1t seemed now that she 1 had been there since the opening night in the left-hand stage box, a single slight girl, with face like rose, and flower l in her chestnut hair.
 | 1t was at the close of long, hard worked season, and they were playing
 a brief spring engagement in the quiet
 little city, and longing wearily for the
 moment of release when they could flee
 to mountain fastness, or seaside resort
 for the rest so needed in the taxing ca
 reer of the actor.
 It was g phenomenal engagement con- sidering the lateness of the season, and Roy Stirling the leading actor, who was
 creating some stir in the dramatic world by his rare histrionic powers, had noth- ing to ask of the enthusiasm evoked by his every performance. He was the fa- vorite of the hour, the matinee idol, the
 promise of even the most captious of critics, on the high road to an early and
 intoxicating fame, yet seemingly un- spoiled by it all.
 Who was she? Only nameless girl in the flower and fragrance of her youth. who came nightly with her gay compan- ions to the little theater; yet, unknow- lngly, she gave inspiration to his finest art, color, life and interest to the most hackneyed role he was called upon to portray. It was not Juliet, in her ball. .cony, to whom he poured out his pas sion with southern warmth and aban- donment. the proud beauty of Lyons. to whom he pleaded for pardon, but the little girl in the stage box; so near, yet so far. so clothed in mystery and enchantment.
 He knew her not, her name, her en- vironment. her fate, but each night as the footlights frightened, the violins thrilled in the opening overture, the great curtain rolled up to reveal the fascinating mimic world, she sat in her accustomed place, till it seemed the play could not go on without her.
 She is simple, rare, unique; for her heart still untouched, her life unwritten, her sensitive soul like that of the poet tdivines all through anticipation; in the speaking face she turns to him, the gray eyes that follow him about the stage, what does she not reveal; she respondssto his every touch as a rare violin to the hand of it's master.
 The actors, alive to the humor of the situation, rallied him about his latest mash" the leading lady pouted, and protested that he made love to the stage box rather than the rightful heroine of the play. He laughed, frowned, and turned them aside, but their careless raillery fingered in his thought, con- firmed his own fears and forebodings.
 Could this be love? He secuted the idea to scorn, would have none of it. Was he the man to be swayed by a girls smile like his fellows, turned from his great ambition, his career, by dream befitting a schoolboy?
 < So he believed, protested and re- solved; but one night of absence on the part of his fair unknown taught him a lesson in humility not lightly to be forgotten. Where now were the magic of his art, the collaboration, the absorp- ton, that had never failed him before? The house seemed, empty and void, the friendly audience cold and pulseless, the play moved with leaden feet; and all because girls face was missing from its accustomed place.
 Then realization came home to him with sudden force; he knew now that for many weeks this girl had been his sole audience, his gentlest critic, warmest admirer, most innocent devotee.
 To her he had looked for inspiration, response, sympathy, and she had never failed him. When the thunder of ap- plause rang in his ears, and he came before the curtain again and again to bow his acknowledgements, he was ever conscious of more delicate homage coming from that box so close to his hand, like the fragrance from a flower.
 Only girl unknown to fame, yet for the time she had ruled him, man of the world, student, actor that he was, and he could not escape her subtle spell, the silken meshes of the net she had not the coquetry to throw. It was passing strange; yet the humiliating fact was revealed to him in the sense of loss her absence brought, which could not be rea-
  soned away or dispelled by his most heroic resolves.
 When next she came with gay, girl ish throng. he could have taxed her warmly for her absence, but his own buoyancy and spirit returned, and he had never portrayed his gallant role bet ter, so they said.
 By this time he had become acuuaint- !, ed with all the habitues of that box: the youthful, vivacious mother, the scholarly father, the girl companions, and an occasional admirer who seeks in vain to divert her attention from the stage. Were she an aspirant for his- trionic honors she could not give the mimic life passing before her a more absorbed and undivided attention; could not show more subtle recognition of the beautiful art unfolding like flow CT before her vision.
 The handsome young actor had never played better. so they told him: with more grace, spirit and magnetic fire, a more delicate art, than now at the close