THE NOVELIST

Observer, Volume 2, Issue 43, 9 July 1881, Page 477

THE NOVELIST

NOT IN THE PIECE. A THEATRICAL STORY, By Richmond Thatcher.

CHAPTER II r.

DIVIDED. Jemmy returned to his duties on the Post, the only outward alteration in him being a subdued demeanour, and the only perceptible effect of his loss at times a bitter savagery in his writings, that cost the Post some trouble. A grave, thoughtful man separated from his wife, the world knew. Prissy remained 'the accomplished and graceful young actress.' Of course the world at times was busy with her name, for Avas she not on the staff e ? There was no consolation for the man, neither in drink nor in other women ; desire for either was simply eliminated from his being. Out of the texture of his life the gay tints were gone, but the web and woof were none the less durable for the absence of colour. So Jemmy went on, no one knowing the effect of his social wreck. That it was total his world knew, but no one was aware how he took it. Time came when the ' great galaxy of stars' returned to , and the name of Miss Prissy Bonsey was still in the bills. 'She might have spared me this blow,' thought Jemmy ; ' the universe is not too wide for us to be apart.' He knew literally nothing of her condition or mode of life, though at times he heard that she had consoled herself ; but he was too well aware of the penalty every woman who enters public life incurs, to attack the slightest importance to rumours. An actress can be as pure as ice and as chaste as snow, and not escape calumny ; and at the same time she can outrage propriety and decency, and be received without question in 'society.'

He had made an offer of a weekly sum from his salary through his solicitor, which had been politely but firmly refused. On the night of the re-appearance of the ' great galaxy' he got a fellow-pressman to do his work. To do it himself Avas out of the question, and he went home to his lodgings, whither pictures of the performance followed and haunted him ; and the old bitterness agonised him as he saw in imagination hie wife — the Prissy who had conquered his selfishness and ambition — on the stage, winning all hearts by her matchless impersonation, being as light and gay, albeit conscientious, as when she won his heart for ever, only to break and sear it. When he got to the office, as he was bound to do in order to send in his 'copy,' he found an addendum to the theatrical notice, penned by his substitute, to this effect :— ' At a late hour Miss Elsie Carter undertook the role for which Miss Prissy Bonsey was cast, .that lady being indisposed.' Below was :— ' Dear Jem.,— l am bound to tell you the report is that Miss Bonsey — your relationship to whom I am aware of — broke a blood-yessel in her dressingroom, and is seriously indisposed, not to put too fine a front on it.'

m Jemmy's love for the girl had never abated since its awakening. There was simply an impassable barrier between them, set up by somebody, by whom he was not aware. The act was hers— a blind,' mad act, but stern reality.

And this idol of his heart, turned to the meanest clay by fate, needed his sympathy, his attention, such as he might have bestowed upon a dying cur in the street, and he must be indifferent to her dire need of such sympathy or attention.

As -he mechanically wrote the criticism based upon the observations of his deputy, and shed tears of blood over his great wrong and misery, he was aware of the advent of some one not connected with the office. It was Dr Dowse, a physician Avith whom he had some acquaintance, who came into his room. 'Mr Passmore, ' he said, ' your Avif e is very bad, and needs your presence. I know your story as your friends knoAV it, and I hope you Avill see her.'

Jemmy rose up firmly, staring at the doctor. ' I cannot go, ' lie said, hoarsely, ' between us there is a great gulf fixed, and on earth we may not meet again.' 'Tut, tut,' responded the doctor, 'it is not for you, man, to judge or forgive — she is going before a higher tribunal. ' ' Not dying ?' gasped Jemmy. 'Fast,' replied the doctor, 'take my trap. Mrs McCullen's over the Brook Bridge, first house past the Soda Water Manufactory. lam of no use now, but I will walk up.' 'Quick, quick,' would the drive never come to an end ?' It did, and Jemmy strode into the dying chamber. The women were there — a nurse, the landlady and the 'ladies from the theatre.' They stared. ' Leave the room, said Jemmy, ' and on their showing signs of refusing, he pointed impatiently to the door. ' Go, ' he said, 'leave me with my wife.' Prissy, pale, bloodless, and conscious of approaching death, rose at the sound of his voice. Not a word at first was spoken. She held out her arms and he took her tenderly in his. Cleansed by the fire of God, she Avas his again, that Prissy he had asked to be his wife that evening, when, after weighing all the conseqiiences, he had asked her, and she had replied that it r ould be so nice to have him

'all to herself for ever.' Close to his heart, clasped as though death should not take her. 'Pris.' 'Jemmy.' 'For ever,' were all the words spoken. A convulsive guggle, a spasm, the last of the ebb of life's blood, Jemmy had condoned the offence, and Prissy had expiated it. When Dr Dowse entered the room, the widower was staring at a piece of paper on which was written : — ' Here is one proof of the truth of the story of which I have been telling you. How long are you going to submit to such treachery without resenting it?' — G. G. He had scarcely time to put it into his pocket when the dread preparation for robbing death of its true hideousness, commenced.