And when Mr. Daly told me this, he added, with a twinkle in his eye: "He will get the benefit, surely enough." And when he saw my bewilderment, he added: "Don't you see? I had my doubts about the Bishop, but dear old Father X—— will be so anxious about his orphans that he will make things right for me with him, for their sakes." A view of the matter that proved to be correct. Verily a clever man was our manager.
Day after day we rehearsed, and day after day I hoped that the dreadful bit of business might be toned down. At last my nerves gave way completely, and after a particularly trying rehearsal I rushed to the managerial office, and, bursting into tears, begged hard to be excused from trampling the cross under foot.
"Surely," I sobbed, "it's bad enough to have to tear off the veil—and—and—I'm afraid something will happen!"
"And," said Mr. Daly, "to tell you the truth, I'm afraid, too!"
He gave me a glass of water, and waiting a moment for me to conquer my tears, he went on: "I'm glad you have come in, I was just about sending for you."
"Oh!" I interrupted, "you are going to cut something out?" But he answered, gravely: "No! I shall cut nothing out! But look here, you are a brave girl, and forewarned is forearmed, you know, so I am going to speak quite plainly. I don't know how the public may receive that bit of business; perhaps with dead silence; perhaps with hisses."
I sprang to my feet. "Sit down!" he said, "and listen. You shall not be held responsible, in the slightest degree, for the scene, I promise you that. If anything disagreeable happens it shall be fairly stated that you played under protest. It is, of course, possible that the scene may go along all right, but I want to warn you that you may prepare yourself for the storm, should it come. I don't want you to be taken unawares and have you faint or lose your nerve. So, now whenever you go over your part and reach that point, say to yourself: 'Here they hiss!' Don't look so pale. I'm sorry you have to bear the brunt alone, but you will be brave, won't you?"
And I rose, and after my usual habit, tried to jest, as I answered: "Since you alone gave me my opportunity of being applauded in New York, I suppose it's only fair that I should accept this opportunity of being hissed."
Excited and miserable I went home. Faithfully I followed Mr. Daly's suggestion. But no matter how often I went over the scene, whenever I said: "Here they hiss," my face went white, my hands turned cold as stone. 'Twas fortunate the first performance was near, for I could not have borne the strain long. As it was, I seemed to wear my nerves on the outside of my clothes until the dreaded night was over.
The play had gone finely; most of the people were well cast. Miss Morant, Miss Davenport, Miss Jewett, Miss Varian especially so; while Fisher, Lewis, Lemoyne, Crisp, Clark, and James did their best to make a success and close in glory the season that had been broken in half by the burning of the home theatre. The end of the third act had been mine. The passionate speech of renunciation and farewell had won the favor of the house, and call after call followed. As I had played the scene alone, I should have been proud and happy—should have counted the calls with a miser's gloating satisfaction. But instead my blood was already chilling with dread of the coming act.