ALL OR NOTHING.

North Otago Times, 22 May 1909, Page 2 (Supplement)

ALL OR NOTHING.

(Copyright.)

A THRILLING ROMANCE, ■ _

-Dy the Author of"A Bitter nond;igc," "Two Koys," "Stella," "The Unknown Bridegroom," &c,

CHAPTER I. The Eden Theatre was crowded almost to suflocation; outside, a dense mass of people had struggled and fought for places; women had been carried fainting from the doors, men had found their way by strength of arm. There reigned a marvellous conlusion—shouting, calling of cabs, the cries of the orange-sellers, the noises of the many people for whom no accommodation could be found, inside, the house was literally crowded from floor to ceiling. The boxes were filled with beautiful women in ricli dresses, whose jewels fleamcd in the bright lights; the stalls were occupied by some of the leading men in London-critics, who made or marred the fame of an actress ; authors, dramatic writers, editors of papers, whose opinions rule half England ; celebrated novelists, whose names arc known over

all the world. The pit was a surging mass, so crowded that it did not seem possible either to breathe or move; the galleries, the resort of the gods, unusually crowded and unusually quiet—a house that made the fortunate manager m!i his hands aid congratulate himself on the happy hit he had made. And all this excitement was caused by the simple announcement that Evelyn Romaine, Queen of the Stage, was, on that evening, to play "Marie Stuart" in a favourite drama of that name, now forgotten—a drama founded on some incident that happened when the hapless Scottish Queen was Dauphiness of France. People in those days, before the "sensation " play was introduced, flocked in great crowds to hear "Marie Stuart," and came away better men and better women for the hearing of it. There was breathless silence in that crowded house when the curtain drew up, discovering a room in the Louvre and the Dauphin of France, with the Queen-mother, awaiting the entrance of Marie Stuart. And when

she came great thunders of applause

seemed to shake the theatre walls, not only from the pit and the gallery, but from the boxes and the stalls. Great ladies were not ashamed to lay aside their jewelled fans and pay due homage to the woman who stood before them. She deserved her name, for ■ she Was every inch a queen, tall and stately in figure, with grace and harmony in every movement. Critics, who considered themselves judges, said that in the beautiful lines of that perfect figure Evelyn Romaine resembled the Venus oi Milo. Looking at her, one felt that she was perfect; no one ever said ' " she would be better taller or shorter, thinner or stouter." The colour of the arms and neck was exquisite as the shape, That figure was now arrayed in Royal robes. Evelyn Romaine wore a dress of rich, gleaming white satin, on which was embroidered golden fleur-de-lis. On her head she carried a small diadem, and over all was thrown a mantilla ot fine, white lace. Looking at her, one hesitates as to what country calls her child. Those dark eyes, the dark hair, the beautiful classic outline, the Grecian cast of feature, the passionate, dark, artistic face, are not English, Mere rosy, healthy beauty, full of vivid contrasts of colour, fades into nothing before hers. In that he cne reads not only passion, but the power of expressing it—not only genius, but the power of making others understand that genius. The earnest gaze of the dark eyes seems to be charged with electric fire. One ceases to think of her as a woman as she stands there in such sublime unconsciousness; she is an artiste, a genous so gifted herself with the "divine fire" that others are warmed by it. For a moment she remains silent, perhaps half-startled by the tumult of applause, her attitude one of such unstudied, artistic grace that some people would hot care if she stood there for an hour longer. She had walked on to the stage quietly, with downcast eyes and gentle step, feeling then that she was a woman about to endure the curious gaze of hundreds of curious eyes. She had forgotten that noise; the shifting crowd the eager faces had faded away; she saw only the gloomy Palace of Holyrood that was to be her future home, and forbidding faces whose last frown would be darkling as her head lay on the block. She was no longer Evelyn Romaine, but Marie ! Stuart, lovely and beloved-Marie Stuart, the idol of that brilliant i Court over whom there hung the ' dark shadow of impending doom.

A moment's silence in that vast crowd; then she spoke, and the sound of her voice seemed to thrill the great soul of the people. Clear, rich, and musical, a voice whose tones reached the most hidden depths of the heart, and there bid "long sealed-up fountains flow." During the scene that followed she was interrupted by no applause; those who listened to her were too deeply touched for that. They hung hreathlessly upon her every word, they drank in every movement of the beautiful figure, every change in the dark, passionate face. Then, when the scene was ended, and she withdrew, it was as though the spell that had bound them died, and they called for her with a voice she was obliged to hear. She reappeared, all woman then, blushing and half-ashamed of the tumult, Costly bouquets were flung at the feet of the grand, beautiful gifted woman. Among others was a gorgeous wreath of white lilies, flung by a young and handsome man from one of the boxes in the lower tier. When she saw it, Evelyn Romaine looked up, a sweet, bright smile parted her lips for one half-mo-ment. Her dark eyes seemed to say, "Come!"

Then the radiant figure disappeared from the stage, and it was as though the theatre was left in darkness and gloom,

She stood in the green-room, the white satin falling in rich, sweeping masses behind her, the diadem, shining on her queenly brow, her dark, bcaatiful {ace yet glowing with tho passion of her words, when the manager came up to her, "It to useless, Hiss Romaine, lor me to retire? jour, numerous adtalr-

crs permission to come behind the scenes. Here'is the Duke of Daitenon, who persists in seeing you." A change, wonderful to see, passed over her face; the passionate glow of colour died out of it, the oyes grew darker, and the proud lips curved. "I will sec him," she said. He came up to her, bowing, smiling, full of graceful flatteries and glittering compliments, then stopped abruptly as he saw the proud scorn of her beautiful face.

"I have something to return to you, my Lord Duke of Baitenon," she said, slowly. "One of your servants left this at my house yesterday, with a letter. The letter I burned-the bos I return." She laid it on the table near him, A dark flush overspread the duke's face.

"Miss Romaine," he whispered,

"you cannot mean it. Believe me, you shall be a duchess in everything save the name." "Even should you offer me that," she replied, calmly, "I should decline it."

He looked at her in wonder. "You would decline, Miss Romaine?" he said, breathlessly. Most assuredly. I consider my name, although not written in history, more honourable than yours." He bent over her, his handsome face flushed, his eyes full of an evil light, and he whispered a few words in her ear. She drew back haughtily the jewels of her diadem flashing with light. "It is enough," she said. " Our interview is ended."

With a bow as dignified and graceful as though she had been a queen dismissing an ambassador, Evelyn Romaine turned away. Discomlitcd and abashed, his Grace of Bairenon withdrew, with a muttered curse on his lips. Then Lord Hlingworth, considered the best judge of theatrical matters in London, came up to her.

"You arc excelling yourself, Miss Romaine, to-night.. Your ' Marie Stuart' is without peer,"

To him the beautiful young actress held out her hand, with a kindly smile.

"Thank you, Lord Hlingworth," she said. "I love my part, therefore I am sure to play it well."

She conversed with him for two or three minutes in a vindly, frank fashion that was irresistibly charming ; then a step sounded outside the green-room, and her face flushed, her lips quivered. How often had she said to herself that even were she lying in her grave, and that step rustled in the long, thick grass, she should hear it?

Then entered a young man, handsome, with a gay, debonair style of beauty, a grand head, covered with short waves of chestnut hair, a fair, comely Saxon face, with large blue eyes and sensitive lips, and he came up to Evelyn with a smile of assured welcome.

"My queen," he whispered-" my beautiful love, I wish to-night that I were David Rizzio or the Dauphin of Prance, that you. might smile upon me." She received him in a very different manner from what she had shown to bis rivals. Lord Illingworth made way, for he had a shrewd suspicion that Evelyn Romaine and the Honourable Clive Noel were, to say the least of it, very dear friends. "You have no need to change your identity in order to win a smile from me," she said, a beautiful light shining in her dark eyes. " When did I ever receive you with a frown?" "What have you been saying to the Duke of Baitenon ? I met him just now in a terrible rage." Her dark, passionate face Hushed. "Never mind him," she said, "He has received his lesson."

"Has he dared to insult you ?" broke out the young man. "Oh Evelyn: This cannot go on. You must listen to my prayers. I shall go mad If this state of things continues."

"Miss Romaine!" called the callboy. "I must go," she said ; "I havo to quarrel with the Dauphin and the Queen-mother."

"I shall wait until you return," he. replied. "I will put it out of the power of any man to insult you, Evelyn."

He heard the applause that greeted that wondrous scene, where the passion, the fire, and the genous of the young actress seemed t.n reach its climax.

She came oft the stage again, but it was only for a few minutes, during which he did not venture to speak to her, for he saw that the inspiration of her part was so strong upon her. "What an actress she is!" he said to himself, with a sigh. "I wonder if she will give up the stage even for me ?"

She went on again, and half an hour passed away. Then by the renewal of the applause, he knew the play was ended. He waited silently until she came, She was queen no longer ; the diadem had been cast, at the' feet of her conquerors. She was white and trembling with the emotion she could not help feeling in such truth ; the long, dark hair was all unbound, and full over the gleaming satin like a dark veil; the dark eyes were full of tears, the lips tremulous with emotion. As he went to her, she held up one white hand.

"Hush !" she said. "Wait a few minutes before you speak to me, Clivc, I am ' Marie Stuart' still; wait until the glamour dies away."

He stood watching her with curious eyes; it was as though she became transformed. The fire and the passion, the tears in ber eyes, the trembling of her lips ceased ; slowly she resumed her usual expression, and then turned to him with a slight shiver and a deep sigh. "It always takes me some minutes to forget my assumed character ! and remember my own," "Would you rather have been Marie Stuart than Evelyn Romaine?" he asked.

"No," she replied, a 6udden flush covering her face, "not if it be really true that you love me."

CHAPTER-11, Evelyn Romaine had never been anything but an actress. As a child she was the delight of all her companions and the wonder of her gentle mother. The grand smile of a "soul of flame in a body of gauze" applied to her. As a child she was delicate, fragile, and often ailing. Yet she drank in with marvellous avidity all tho beauties and marvels of • the world of fiction and poetry. She pondered over the heroines of Shakespeare; she studied their words, she entered Into the Ideas that produced them; she entered, ft! It were, tlielr very- heart an.il sou!

until sho forgot her own identity, and lost all self-consciousness to

'her art. "A born actress," nil said who knew her. "You must let her go on the stage, Mrs. Romaine." And Mrs.. Romaine, who from her quiet village home had been accustomed to consider an actress as outside the pale of civilisation, looked with wonder and consternation on the beautiful young girl who differed so greatly from all those around her. Mr. Romaine had been for many years curate of the pretty little town of Glen Dale, in Gloucestershire. He I was in bis fortieth year when he married the pretty, gentle daughter of the only lawyer the town could boast. One little daughter, Evelyn, was given to them, and when she was three years old Mr, Romaine died. His widow and child lived in the pretty cottage where his peaceful, blameless life had been spent. The good curate had but one weakness, and he had indulged it—that was reading. He left behind him a rare library—good and costly editions of Shakespeare, of Spenser, of Milton, of the old-time poets whose verses still ring through the world. And this library formed-Evelyn Romaine's character.. She spent entire days there. Her mother entering, and seeing the child with shining eyes looking over one of Shakespeare's grand dramas, would say: " Evelyn, you are trying your eyes." The girl would look up at ber, dazed and bewildered, as one brought suddenly from an ideal world. " Listen, mamma !" she would cry, with flushing face and brightening eyes. "This is Queen Katherine of Arragon before the king. Such grand words ! Listen," Then throwing her whole soul into the part, she would stand up and repeat it with such perfect and ap-, propriate gestures that gentle Mrs. Komaine would stand aghast, wondering who the child took after, and' what would become of her.

I She was sent to the only ladies' j school that Glen Dale could boast; ; but she was not in the least like ! other children. Music she learned ! rapidly; history was a favourite j study; but the organs of ideality, of veneration, were too strongly developed. Sho never lived a true child's life-it was all one ideal i dream. There were times when the I governess would look bewildered and j the pupils delighted, listening to j Evelyn Romaine. A dry passage of history became in 'her hands a glowing romance, myjthology a grand epic poem. Not understanding this wondrous gift of I ideality, there were times when the j worthy governess really thought the i girl slightly deranged. If she wrote j a theme it was full of qrilliant fani ties-wild, romantic theories. She ; resembled no other child in that j quiet, sleepy town of Glen Dale. I The wind had a voice for her, and Jit was full of music—from the sweet- , est whisper that ever thrilled a rose, ito the mightiest tempest that bent tbe branches of the trees.' She loved iit all. She had a fashion, in the ! solemn, golden hush of summer I nights, of laying her face on the J thick, soft grass and listening to the ! vague, sweet, murmur that touches I the heart as no other sound ever ;does, She had a way of listening to the sound of raindrops pattering jon green leaves—to the ripple of the ! brook—to the song of the river—to • the tiny drops of water that fell | from the fountain. "What did she ■ bear?" Other girls asked her, and | she answered by n bright, sweet smile.

The dew In the bright mornings, the evening gloaming, the glory of tbe sun, the song ot the birds, the fragrance of (lowers, the solemn silence of starlit night, the solemn hush ot deep green woods, filled her heart and soul with a vague, delicious rapture.

I "What dirt she sec in it all ?" i young girls asked, and she could not j tell them. She did not know, in j those early days, that all nature, all beauty, spoke to her because God I had given her some of the divine fire men call genius. In her heauItiful dream-world she lived pure and [peaceful, the passionate heart Rtlll sleeping, the passionate soul still at rest. Gentle Mrs. Romaine looked at her daughter in silent amazement. Whence had she that wondrous genius, that, grand imagination, that graceful fancy, that unutterable harmony of mind and soul V Whence had she that dark, passionate, beautiful face, so spirited, so ideul—that figure so full of youthful grace and majesty ? What was to become of her in aworld so cruel and selfish as to dislike anything original ? What would she be fit for, in these active, commonplace times 7 The question did not puzzle the gentle lady long. The March winds were cruel to her, and when Evelyn was fifteen Mrs. Romaine was laid to rest in the pretty churchyard at tho foot of the hill. She was not left quite alone; ft cousin ol her mother's-Mrs. Boswell—a widow, who had a hard life of toil and trouble, came to live with her. Evelyn inherited from her mother ' a small Income of eighty pounds per annum; that, with the little cottage, was more than sufficient for her.

Another year, spent In dreamland iu silence aud study, in the worship of the true and the beautiful-then to ISvelyn Komaine came the inspiration of her life. Where would her love of the ideal, her wondrous power of conceiving character, her love for the poetic and the romantic, he gratified ? On the stage, in the grand realms of fancy—there 6he could be a queen.

She told Mrs. Boswell of ber plan, and 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 Romaino introduced herself to him. She went to tho 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 a good actress."

"You a very beautiful one," was the manager's comment to himself. He asked her what she had studied, where she had been. In a (ew moments be had heard tbe simple story of her life, and recognised the fact that before him stood a girl endowed with genius, Ho asked her to give him some specimens of her ability, Throwing herself heart and soul, as 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 aro, as yon say, born an actress; it is your metier." Under his direction she studied hard 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 of her voice, the genius that was revealed in every word and action, the veiled tenderness, the deep passion, the graceful, playful manner, brought nil London to her feet. The whole city went crazy over her. Never had tho theatre been so crowded—never had Mr, Clipperden made so fortunate a hit,

"I believe," he said to her once, "you love 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 bo an actress than a grand lady ?" he continued.

"I would rather he an actress," she replied, "than anything else in the wide world. I would not give up my art for anything that could be offered to me."

Words that afterwards 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 one long dream of happiness and success.

! The papers spoke of her as they j seldom speak. They predicted a success seldom attained,, even by the i finest actresses on the stage; they spoke of her beauty, the clear, sweet tone of her voice, so tender and persuasive, so earnest and ringing; of the wonder of her pale, passionate, star-like face; of the instinctive, unconscious grace of her attitude; of the genius that seemed to pervade her and enfold her as a garment, It was a season of intoxicating success. Yet in some vague way Bhe seemed to live* outßide 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. She was as unlike other actresses now as she had been unlike other children as a girl. All homage was 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 Frascati's; no one ever uttered a word before her that would not have been said before wife or child.

Pure and spiritual herself, the very atmosphere around her seemed full o( purity and light. Men worshipped her; the fire of her genius, the pathos of her passion, the tenderness of her 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, In a whirl of triumphant success, and at its close Evelyn Romaine found herself one ol 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 no home ties, no one to love her, no one to love.

Yet in her own way she was happy, When the season was over, she went to b pretty, quiet little waterplace with Mrs. Baswell, and remained there until it was timo to return to her engagement, Mr Olipperden found that his speculation had been one of the most fortunate that could bo imagined. "It was a risky thing," he said once, "bringing out a girl whose name had never been heard ; but it has answered well—lor her and (or me." 80, 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 of 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 0/ the stage for many years hut for what happened one night when she was playing Portia, ■ 1159 (To be Continued.)