ANOTHER OLD ACQUAINTANCE. 153

observed it. They said now that he looked pale; he
said that the theatre was so hot.

Everybody was engrossed by the piece, and he too
looked on. It was Jessie Bannerman; ™fe saw it
plainly ; the same being, who, sitting with him in
the patten-maker’s parlour, had told him her sad
history ; the same who had gone with him on that
Christmas-day to Alton Towers ; who had made that
strange compact with him of trial and fidelity for five
years ; the same who had been true to him for five
years, and then offered him, herself, her love and her
gratitude, and had been rejected by him; and who,
with her love and gratitude, had he but been worthy
of them, would have conferred upon him wealth,
splendour, honour, the world’s renown, only to have
been allied to her.

The piece was Othello. And now she came to the
second scene of the fourth act, Where Desdemona, on
her knees before Othello, asserts her innocence.

She seemed to surpass even herself; the public
enthusiasm rose to the highest pitch ; flowers were
rained down from every box near the stage, and came
flying from pit and gallery.

“Now, Williams, fling down your garland to her,”
resounded distinctly on the stage from the box above.
She cast her eye in the direction of the voice instantly ;
their eyes met, it was but for a moment, but to Wil-
liams it seemed as if he had shrunk into nothing-
ness before the clear, keen gaze of those beautiful
eyes. He groaned inwardly ; he felt how little, how
mean he was; how wretched, how despicable had
_ been all his aims in life. She rose higher and higher ;
there was a majesty in her action, a thrilling tone in
her voice that crushed him. He felt at once humbled