Then will pure light around thy path be shed,
And thou wilt never more be sad and lone.”—Lowell.
The entire change of scene, the vigour of his own mind, and the sturdy resolution with which he laid aside care and anxiety soon restored Macneillie to a great extent. He recovered his power of sleeping, and returned to Stratford to find Ralph and Evereld already settled there and awaiting him with a warmth of welcome which did his heart good. To hear him telling comical stories of his adventures among the Dutch as they lingered over the supper table that first evening, no one would have believed that he had passed through any ordeal whatever, and he seemed quite ready for all the hard work that lay before him.
Indeed Ivy Grant thought him unnecessarily vigorous.
“It’s all very well for Mr. Macneillie who has been enjoying a holiday all these weeks, but it’s rather hard on us,” she protested, “to be kept rehearsing every day till four o’clock, just when we wanted a little free time, too.”
For Ivy was rejoicing in the presence of Dermot and Bride O’Ryan, who had come down for the Shaksperian performances, Bride for pleasure, and Dermot chiefly to see Ivy and to write a series of articles for his paper.
Evereld was delighted to have her friend with her and thoroughly enjoyed her first experience of the Memorial week. Stratford had naturally very happy associations for her, and though the weather was not quite so perfect as it had been during their brief honeymoon, it did not affect the audiences which were always large and enthusiastic.
One evening towards the end of the week Bride and Evereld were as usual setting off together for the theatre. There had been rain during the day but the evening was bright and clear so that there was nothing to prevent them from going by the river.
“There is something so delicious in just stepping into the ‘Miranda’ and being rowed to the very door,” said Evereld as she took her place in that same boat in which only a little while before Macneillie and Christine had had their last interview. “It must be like this at Venice.”
“Minus the Shaksperian associations and plus the smells,” said Bride with a smile. “Here come these vicious swans that look so picturesque and are really so bad tempered. One of them nearly made an end of Dick the other day, according to Bridget.”