After his confession, Black Hugh raised himself up, gave a gasp, and fell on his back as dead as a stone.
The baronet was loaded with chains, and the “Lily of Ludgate” fell into the arms of the rightful heir, who had been carried away in the earlier part of the drama by Black Hugh, who was evidently a favourite actor with the frequenters of the theatre.
He rolled his eyes, and pronounced his words as only an artist of his accomplishments and powers could pronounce them.
During the progress of the play the whole theatre shook with enthusiasm and applause, and when Black Hugh had safely escaped from his painted prison-house, the shouts of exaltation were deafening, and were repeated till the roof rang again.
But then we must remember that crime and the penalties of crime are so different in the world and on the stage.
On the stage there is not the cankering remorse, the ever-trembling fear, the start at each voice which speaks, the shudder under each hand which is placed upon the shoulder.
On the stage the prison walls are of wood and canvas, and the public will not permit hanging.
On the stage, then, the law has no terrors, the judge with the black cap is a jest, the condemned cell a jovial cider cellar, the gallows an empty puppet for a Christmas pantomime.
Alf Purvis had, during the performance of the melodrama, been most deeply interested with the action of the piece. His mistress placed her hand upon his shoulder, and asked him if “Black Hugh” was not a bold, and fearless man.
“He’s a brave chap, but the baronet was the worst of the two, and ought to have been shot instead of Hugh. Don’t you think so?”