ALL OR NOTHING.

King Country Chronicle, Volume VII, Issue 571, 28 May 1913, Page 6

ALL OR NOTHING.

( CopvrigKt.y

A THRILLING ROMANCE, . 4 - —By the Author of • A Bitter Bondage," "Two Keys," "Stella," "The Unknown Bridegroom," &c., PART 2. Gentle Mrs. Romaine looked at her daughter in silent amazement Whence had she that wondrous : enius, that grand imagination, that graceful fancy, that unutterable harmony of mind and soul ? Whence had she that dark, passionate, beautiful face, so spirited, so ideal —that figure ,;o full of youthful grace and mai sty ? What was to become of hei in aworld so cruel and selfish as tc lisiike anything original ? What would she be fit for, in these active, commonplace times ? The questior lid not puzzle the gentle lady long. The March winds were cruel to her, .nd when Evelyn was fifteen Mrs. uomaine was laid to rest in the pretty churchyard at the foot of the hill. She was not left quite alone; a cousin of her mother's —Mrs. Bos well —a widow, who had a hard life of toil and trouble, came to live with her. Evelyn inherited from hei mother a small income of eightj \pounds per annum ; that, with the little cottage, was more than sufficient for her.

Another year, spent in dreamland in silence and study, in the worship f the true and the beautiful —then to Evelyn Romaine came the inspira--,ion of her life. Where would her love of the ideal, her wondrous power of conceiving character, her love foi he poetic and the romantic, be gratiied ? On the stage, in the grand realms of fancy—there she could be a queen.

She told Mrs. Bos well of her plan, nd that lady agreed, as she did in everything that Evelyn proposed. The furniture and the little cottage were sold, and the two went up to London.

Perhaps Mr. Chipperden, the manager of the. Eden Theatre, was never more surprised in his life than on the day when Evelyn Romaine introduced herself to him. She went to the theatre and asked to see him. He came, and was struck with the dark, artistic beauty of her face, the deep, rich music of her voice. "I want to go on the stage, sir," she said, simply. "I believe I should make n. good actress." "You would make a very beautiful one," was the manager's comment to himself. He asked her what she had studied, where she had been. In a few moments he had heard the simple story of her life, and recognised the fact that before him stood a girl endowed with genius.

He asked her to give him some specimens of her ability.

Throwing herself heart and soul, is she always did, into the words, she recited some passages from that masterpiece, "Romeo and Juliet."

"You will do, I think," said Mr. Clipperden, quietly. "You will require some little study, but you are, as you say, born an actress ; it is your metier." Under his direction;, she studied !i:ird for one year. She was just eighteen when she made her debut, in the Eden Theatre as Juliet—the most perfect, perhaps, of all her impersonations.

Her rare, artistic beauty, the music f her voice, the genius that was revealed in every word and action, the mi ed tenderness, the deep passion, he graceful, playful manner, brought 11 London to her feet. The whole c':ty went crazy over her. Never had the theatre been so crowded —never had Mr. Clipperden made so fortunate a hit.

"I believe," he said to her once, "you lpve acting, for acting's sake." She opened her dark eyes with the expression of child-like wonder that characterised her.

: "Certainly I do," she replied ; "it is not for money Or fame I play, but because I love my art." ' Then you would rather be an ac- + r:ss than a grand lady ?" he continued.' *

"I would rather be an actress," 6 0 replied, "than anything else in the wide world. I would not give up iry art for anything that could be . flared to me."

Words- that arterwards returned to her, stabbing her like a sharp ;sword. • Evelyn Romaine did indeed awake one morning to find herself famous. The day that followed, her debut was cne long dream of happiness and success.

The papers spoke of her as they «ldom speak. They predicted a success seldom attained, even by the fi nest actresses on the stage ; they spoke of her beauty, the clear, sweet t ne of her voice, so tender and persuasive, so earnest and ringing ; of ; c wonder of her pale, passionate,

,;ar-like face ; of the instinctive, uni nscious grace of her attitude ; of : he genius that seemed to pervade ii r and enfold her as a garment.

It was a season of intoxicating success. Yet in some vague way she teemed to live outside of it. Flattery and homage never touched her ; the thunders of applause never disturbed her. The deep, inner soul of the girl was engrossed in her art. Bhe was as unlike other actresses now as she had been unlike other children as a girl.

All homage waa paid to the innate purity of her character. Men who spoke lightly to others bowed reverently before her ; men at. the clubs who discuss every one and everything, paid instinctive respect to her name. No one made bets about her, no one ever asked her to cosy little dinners at the Monaco or Prascati's ; no one ever uttered a word before her that would not have been skid before witear child.

Pure and spiritual herself, the ▼erj atmosphere around her seemed full ol purity and light. Men worshipped her ; the fire of her genius, the patho; oi" her passion, the tenderness of liei love, the playfulness that distinguished her, were all so many wonders to them. But no one presumed upon her position ; no one sought an introduction that she was not willing to allow. So the first passion passed, is a whirl of triumphant success, and at its close Evelyn Romaine found herself one of the queens of that English stage. Fame and gold were lavished upon her ; the world lay at her feet. Only one thing saddened her, and that was that even in her success she was quite alone. There was neither father, mother, brother, nor sister to share in her happiness ; and the girl's heart grew sad as she remembered she had nc home ties, no one to love her, nc one, to love.

Yet in her own way she was happy. When the season was over, she went to a pretty, quiet little waterplace with Mrs. Baswell, and remained there until it was time to return to her engagement.

Mr Clipperden found that his speculation had been one of the most fortunate that could be imagined.

"It was a riskj thing," he said once, "bringing out ai girl whose name had never been heard ; but it has answered well—for her and for me."

So, when Evelyn Romaine returned from St. Mary's Bay she found herself one of the chief attractions in London. People said she resembled Beatrice in the beautiful picture ol Dante and Beatrice ; that her face had the same spiritual, noble expression, her eyes the same serene light. But this year she was better known. Great ladies who had travelled and wept at her wondrous personations invited her to their houses. She might have been queen of the stage for many years but for what happened one night when she was playing Portia.

CHAPTER 111. Tc the end of her life Evelyn Romaine remembered every detail of that evening. She was playing Portia, one of the characters in which 3he especially delighted. It had not the sweet pathos of Juliet, the playful grace of Rosalind, the sorrow 6f Desflfroona ; it lacked the despair of Constance and the tragedy of Ophelia. Still, Evelyn loved the character, and had in the eyes of the London public made it her own. She had invested it with a grace no other living actress had ever given it ; her anxiety over the caskets, her magnificent rendering of the " Judgment Scene," her bright, winning loveliness in the last act, were all wonderful to behold. People came from far and near to see that Portia.

She was playing it one night. To the hour of her death she remembered the strange Bhudder that seized her as she trod the stage. She remembered how particular she had been over her toilet, the superb costume of green velvet and gold, her head-dress, with gold gleaming in the coils of the dark hair. She was dressed, as she always liked to be, some time before she was wanted. "I like a few minutes to myself," she said once to some one who asked her why she did this. "If Igo on the stage hurried with quick dressing I lose myself. I like to stand dressed as Portia, then I can take the whole of Portia into my ."rind, and lose myself in her." She was standing on this evening, the gorgeous costume of green velvet and gold enhancing her daik beauty, when Mr. Clipperden came up to her. "I am besieged with requests for introductions to you, Miss Romaine," he said. "I have said 'No' in so many different ways, I am at a loss how to say it again."

"I do not care to be troubled with people," she replied, "especially here at the theatre. I could not laugh or talk nonsense between the scenes."

He stood looking attentively at her, wondering why she was so unlike all the other actresses he had ever known.

"Portia is one of your favourite characters —nay, I may say the favourite —is it not ?" he asked.

"I love it very much,'* she replied, "but I prefer Juliet." "How strange !" said the manager, almost involuntarily. "What is strange ?*' she aoked, looking up at him.

' "Perhaps you may think what I am going to say rude," he continued. "If so, I crave your pardon. I have often thought how strange it is that you should eater so completely into a love sceme wbea you have never —pardon me—never been in love yourself."

"Is it so strange?" also asked. "I have never been mad, yet I can play Ophelia faultlessly, the critics are kind enough to say. I have never committed murder, yet I can play Lady Macbeth." " Yes, I grant all that," he continued. "Madness and murder both require broad, bold colouring ; but love is full of delicate, subtle shades. I cannot imagine where or how you have learned it."

"Should I be a better Juliet if I had been what you call in love ?" she asked, with a grave, sweet smile. But. Mr. Clipperden's reply was not heard. It was time for her to go on.

She sat there, beautiful as a vision —-her starlike, beautiful face, her girlish yet stately figure, with its close-fitting costume', talking to Nerissa, when, suddenly raising her eyes, she saw in one of the boxes a face—the face of a handsome manlooking with eager, admiring eyes at her. Her gaze only lasted half a minute —time enough to note the grand Saxon lieau /ith the clusters of chestnuthhaitir —ti a- enough to note the handsome deb cair face, with its broad, white brow, its large, frank,

blue eyes, ana sensitive lips. What had come over her that in ' hat one moment it should seem as ;hough suddenly, in some vague way, aer life had grown complete—a want that sprang into existence and was satisfied in one instant —a strange realisation of all her dreams and fancies ? One by one the suitors for her hand came in and made their choice,> and all the time she was strangely conscious of those blue Byes riveted upon her. At the contusion of the scene, while the storin of applause lasted, she stole one more look at the face. He had never moved —he was regarding hei intently and eagerly. For one hall second their eyes met—his full of admiration and wonder ; hers with :> grave, sweet, questioning glance—and then she passed out. What had happened ? Only half an hour ageshe had stood there, wondering ii love would teach her to play Portia better ; and now—she could not lescribc it. She could not tell how >r why it was, but she seemed tc lave learned the lesson all at ouce.

How was it that when, disguised the learned doctor from Padua he was pleading with an eloquence thai touched all hearts for hei Lover's friend, that lover seemed tc '.ier to wear the face she could not forget ? Was it that which causec her words to flow with such fire and eloquence ? People were carried away—it was as though electric ire ran through the house. Was it i.he same fancy that, in the pretty ; ing scene, caused her arch jealousy to seem so real ? lie was tfhere until the very last. When the bouquets that nightly erected her success fell at her feet ;he looked once more, and the large i>lue eyes, dreamily beautiful, were still upon her.

The next night and the night after ■ t was the same, until, as she had Llealised everything else, she idealised him. When she played Juliet she .magined him Romeo. When she was Desdemona, he was Othello ; and this ideal, silent love occupied her. She never sought to know who he was. -he never asked bis name. She never wondered whether he were

rich or poor. He was simply the deal lover. Gradually all her favourts characters became concentrated in '.iim—he became the one prominent .igure in her dream-world. In one respect she had begun to conform to custom ; she no longer refused to see people who came behind the scenes. Guests whom she met at houses where she visited made their way; there. It was there she met Lord Illingworth, and liked him at once, with a frank', hearty liking ; it was there she met the Duke of Baitenon, and disliked him heartily, despite his handsome face, at the first glance. And one evening after the play was over, and she, feeling tired, sat down to rest wtiile Mrs. Boswell waited with her cloak, Mr. Clipperden came up to her.

"You look tireu to-night, Miss Ro-< maine," he said. "I will defer my request."

"No," ahe replied, with a smile. "You know how I dread a request hanging over my head. Whatever it may be, let me know it now." "A great friend and supporter o< nine, the Honourable Olive Noel, begs an introduction to you." "Olive Noel," she said, smismgly. "What a beautiful name ! Have 1 heard it before ? It seams familiar to me."

"Most people know Olive Nod," wan the reply. "He is the second eon of Lord Gothwic of Gothwic Towers. The family name is Noel."

"I never heard of them," she replied. "If he has asked yoc, of course. Mr. Clipperden, you can comply witli his request." She looked up at the sound of a voice. There was the manager, short, stout, red in face, and fussy in manner ; there by his side stood the man whose face had never been absent from her since she had first seen it.

"Allow me," said Mr. Clipperden, fusfcily—"allow me to introduce Mr. Noel to Mis.-i Homaine."

She looked up at him. There were the blue eyes that haunted her smiling down upon her. "You !" she said, simply, as she held out her hand. "Is it you ?" "Miss Romaine kindly remembers me as a most devout listener to her beautiful rendering of Shakespeare's heroines," said Mr. Noel to the manager, who, fancying that he might be de trop, went away, leaving them together. For the first few moments they did not speak ; it was happiness enough to be together ; for him to look in the dark, beautiful face, and she to know that the hero of her dreams was near her. Then he said : "I never thought I should have the courage to seek you here, Miss Romaine."

The sound of his voice seemed to fill her heart. —it was as though all the music of her life had suddenly changed into sweet, soft harmony. "I have been longing for weeks past to ask this favour," he continued, "and did not dare." "Whv not ?" she asked, briefly.

" 1 was afraid. I know so many people who have told me you are averse to making acquaintances. Do you live in your art, Miss Homaine ?"

"Entirely," she replied, raising her eyes to liis face. "It engrosses me so that the ordinary business of life seems rather the interlude, this the reality."

" What wonderfui powers of concentration you must hav» !" he continued. "How diflerent to me ! The great defect of my life is that I am utterly unable to engross myself iD one pursuit." "You tell me your faults very readily, Mr. Noel," she said. "You would be sure to detect them," he replied. "With your keen power of observation, you must h< an excellent judge oi character." (To be Continued.)