“Well, really, Bridget! You can’t expect me to take that for a compliment,” he said laughing. “He has no eyes to speak of—just a couple of slits—and as for his face, it seems to be all nose, with just a little margin of pink puckers.”
“Ah, it’s always the outsiders that can see the likeness,” said Bridget.
“Look here upon this picture, and on this,” quoted Ralph merrily. “You will send me off to play Hamlet in a very humble and chastened mood, Bridget. I never thought I was quite so ugly.”
As a matter of fact the great strain he had passed through, and the present relief, quite blunted the feeling of intense nervousness which usually overwhelmed him when for the first time he played an important character. All his fellow actors too were in sympathy with him, and it did his heart good to hear what they said as to Evereld’s prompt courage and her plucky rescue of Ivy Grant. The news from the hospital was also cheering. Ivy was going on as well as could be expected, and although her burns were severe, she was likely to be able to resume her work in two or three months’ time, and thanks to Evereld she was not at all disfigured.
Ralph’s long and patient study of his part bore excellent fruit. He gave a really striking representation of Hamlet’s lovable and strangely complex character; and Macneillie watched his pupil with satisfaction, feeling to-night more than he had ever done before that Ralph had in him the makings of a really great actor.
“If only that brave little wife of his is spared,” he thought to himself, “his future is assured. But he is the sort of man who might be altogether paralysed by a great sorrow. I should fancy it was the early loss of his wife which turned the Vicar of Whinhaven into a recluse, and according to Ralph it was certainly a great trouble and disappointment which finally killed the poor man. What develops one kind of nature ruins another.”
In the course of the next few days there was a great deal of anxiety both on account of Evereld and of the child. In the midst of it there suddenly appeared upon the scenes the one person who was most capable of cheering and helping them all.
Mrs. Hereford, with her sweet bright face, the youthfulness and vivacity of which contrasted so curiously with her prematurely grey hair, took them all by surprise and was quietly announced one afternoon at the house in Kingsmead Terrace.
“How good of you to come!” cried Ralph, feeling as if the mere sight of her had lifted a load from his mind.
“And how is Evereld?” she asked. “They told me at the door she was better, but I wasn’t sure how much the little servant knew.”