But you shall judge.
"Gentlemen," Mr. Betterton went on after a brief while; "We all know that Love is a Game at which one always cheats. I loved the Lady Barbara Wychwoode. I had the presumption to dream of her as my future Wife. Angered at her Scorn of my Suit, I cheated her into coming here to-night, luring her with the Hope that I would consent to right the Man for whose sake she was willing to risk so much, for whom she was ready to sacrifice even her fair Name. Now I have learned to my hurt that Love, the stern little god, will not be trifled with. When we try to cheat him, he cheats us worse at the last; and if he makes Kings of us, he leaves us Beggars in the End. When my Lord Stour, burning with sacrilegious jealousy, made irruption into my Room, the Lady Barbara had just succeeded in wringing from me an Avowal which proclaimed his Integrity and my Shame. She was about to leave me, humbled and crushed in my Pride, she herself pure and spotless as the Lilies, unapproachable as the Stars."
2
Mr. Betterton had ceased speaking for some time; nevertheless, Silence profound reigned in the dark, wainscotted Room for many seconds after the final echo of that perfect Voice had ceased to reverberate. Indeed, dear Mistress, I can assure You that, though there were at least fifty Persons present in the Room, including those unknown to Me who were swarming around the Framework of the Casements, you might have heard the proverbial Pin drop just then. A tense Expression rested on every Face. Can You wonder that I scanned them all with the Eagerness born of my Love for the great Artist, who had thus besmirched his own fair Name in order to vindicate that of his bitterest Foe? That I read Condemnation of my Friend in many a Glance, I'll not deny, and this cut me to the Quick.
True! Mr. Betterton's Scheme of Vengeance had been reprehensible if measured by the high Standards of Christian Forbearance. But remember how he had been wronged, not once, but repeatedly; and even when I saw the Frown on my Lord Roscommon's brow, the Look of Stern Reproof in Sir Charles Sedley's Face, there arose before mine Eyes the Vision of the great and sensitive Artist, of the high-souled Gentleman, staggering beneath the Blows dealt by a band of hired Ruffians at the Bidding of this young Coxcomb, whose very Existence was as naught in the Eyes of the cultured World beside the Genius of the inimitable Mr. Betterton.
I said that the Silence was tense. Meseemed that no one dared to break it. Even those idly Curious who had swarmed up the Rainpipes of this House in order to witness one of Tom Betterton's Pranks, felt awed by the Revelation of this Drama of a great Man's Soul. Indeed, the Silence became presently oppressive. I, for one, felt a great Buzzing in mine Ears. The Lights from the Candles assumed weird and phantasmagoric Proportions till they seared my aching Eyes.
Then slowly my Lord Stour approached her Ladyship, sank on his Knees before Her and raised the Hem of her Robe to his Lips. A sob broke from her Throat; she tried to smother it by pressing her Handkerchief into her Mouth. It took Her a second or two to regain her Composure. But Breeding and Pride came to her Aid. I saw the stiffening of her Figure, the studied and deliberate Movement wherewith She readjusted her Mantle and her Veil.
My Lord Stour was still on his Knees. At a sign from her Ladyship he rose. He held out his left Arm and she placed her right Hand on it, then together they went out of the Room. The Crowd of Gentlemen parted in order to make way for the Twain, then when they had gone through, some of the Gentlemen followed them immediately; others lingered for awhile, hesitating. Sir William Davenant, Mr. Killigrew, my Lord Rochester, all of Mr. Betterton's Friends, appeared at first inclined to remain in order to speak with him. They even did me the Honour of consulting me with a Look, asking of my Experience of the great Actor whether they should stay. I slowly shook my Head, and they wisely acted on my Advice. I knew that my Friend would wish to be alone. He, so reserved, so proud, had laid his Soul bare before the Public, who was wont to belaud and to applaud him. The Humiliation and the Effort must have been a terrible Strain, which only Time and Solitude could effectually cure.
He had scarce moved from his Position beside the Desk, still stood there with one slender Hand resting upon it, his Gaze fixed vaguely upon the Door through which his Friends were slowly filing out.
Within two minutes or less after the Departure of my Lord Stour and her Ladyship, the last of the Crowd of Gentlemen and of Idlers had gone. Anon I went across the Room and closed the Door behind them. When I turned again, I saw that the knot of quidnuncs no longer filled the Casements, and a protracted hum of Voices, a crackling of Ivy twigs and general sound of Scrimmage and of Scrambling outside the Window, proclaimed the Fact that even they had had the Sense and the Discretion to retire quietly from this Spot, hallowed by the Martyrdom of a great Man's Soul.