“No; to Barnes’!”
“Barnes’!” exclaimed his surprised listener.
“Yes; he is dead; gone out like the snuff of a candle! Died in harness, before the footlights!”
“During the performance!” cried the wondering Phazma. “Why, only this afternoon I met him, apparently hale and hearty, and now––you tell me he has paid the debt of nature?”
“As we must all pay it,” returned Straws. “He acted as if he were dazed while the play was in progress and I could not but notice it, standing in the wings. The prompter spoke of it to me. ‘I don’t know what is the matter with Mr. Barnes,’ he said, ‘I have had to keep throwing him his lines.’ Even Miss Carew rallied him gently between acts on his subdued manner.
“‘This is our last performance together,’ he said absently. She gave him a reproachful look and he added, quickly: ‘Do I appear gloomy, my dear? I never felt happier.’
“At the end of the second act he seemed to arouse himself, when she, as Isabella, said: ‘I’ll fit his mind to death, for his soul’s rest.’ He gazed at her long and earnestly, his look caressing her wherever she moved. Beginning the prison scene with spirit, he had proceeded to,
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“‘Reason thus with life; If I do lose thee, I do lose a thing That none but fools would keep––’ |
When suddenly he threw up his arms and fell upon the stage, his face toward the audience. With a cry I shall never forget, Miss Carew rushed to him and took his head in her arms, gazing at him wildly, and calling to him piteously. The curtain went down, but nothing could be done, and life quickly ebbed. Once, only, his lips moved: ‘Your mother––there!––where the play never ends!’ and it was over.”