Every now and then a thrill of horror shot through her; then, as the guilty man told of the remorse that haunted him as he stood among the school children, all so pure and innocent, and tried, unavailingly, to join in their evening prayers and hymns, she felt the tears rise to her eyes, and a big lump grow in her throat.
The effect was awful, and when, in his ordinary tone, the reciter wound up with the lines which record the arrest of the guilty usher, she sank back with a sigh of pity and relief. For a moment or two the audience stared at the reciter, at this stranger with the handsome face and sad, dark eyes, in awful silence; then Lord Carfield broke the spell by a vigorous clapping of hands, and amid a storm of applause, Mr. Faradeane, with a faint smile, stepped quietly and slowly from the platform.
As he did so he glanced—was it by accident?—toward Olivia.
She met his glance for a moment, then lowered her eyes, and turned to speak to the vicar, who, worthy man, was sitting with his hands clasped on his knees, and his eyes and mouth wide open.
“My dear Miss Vanley,” he gasped, “what an exciting recitation! I—I don’t think I ever heard anything more—more terrible. Mr. Haraden——”
“Faradeane,” said Olivia.
“I beg your pardon—Faradeane—is a most accomplished actor, most accomplished.”
“Oh, thank you so much, so very much,” murmured Aunt Amelia, jerking her feathers at Faradeane. “It was wonderful, perfectly wonderful. I was never so horrified in my life! Why, it has made our poor little entertainment quite distinguished! How could you do it?”
“It is not very difficult,” said Mr. Faradeane, with a smile. “You are all too good-natured, Miss Vanley,” and he sank into his corner and was hidden from the curious and awestruck gaze of the audience.
The entertainment proceeded; but after the event of the evening, the part songs and duets fell flat, and the big audience dispersed, thinking and talking of nothing but “The Dream of Eugene Aram” and the strange gentleman who had made them shudder and turn pale.