In the mean time Markham and Ellen had been conducted to the Green Room, where a glass of wine was administered to each to restore their self-possession.
The manager was alone with them; and when Richard had time to collect his scattered ideas, he seemed to awake as from a horrible dream. But the ominous countenance of the manager met his glance;—and he knew that it was all a fearful reality.
Then did Markham bury his face in his hands, and weep bitterly—bitterly.
"Alas! young man," said the manager, "it was an evil day for both you and me, when you sought and I accorded my patronage. This business will no doubt injure me seriously. You are a young man of extraordinary talent;—but it will not avail you in this sphere again. You have enjoyed one signal triumph—you have experienced a most heart-rending overthrow. Never did defeat follow upon conquest so rapidly. The power of your genius will not vanquish the opinion of the public. I do not blame you: you were not compelled to communicate your former history to me;—and it was I who forced you to go forward."
Markham was consoled by the language of the manager, who spoke in a kind and sympathising tone of voice.
Thus the only man who would suffer in a pecuniary point of view—or, at least, he who would suffer most—by the fatal occurrence of that evening, was also the only one who attempted to solace the unhappy Markham.
As for poor Ellen—she was overwhelmed with grief.
"You gave me fifty guineas for that fatal—fatal drama," said Richard, after a long pause. "The money shall be returned to you to-morrow."
"No, my young friend,—that must not be done!" exclaimed the manager, taking Richard's hand. "Your noble conduct in this respect raises you fifty per cent, in my opinion."
"Yes—he is noble, he is generous!" cried Ellen. "He has been a benefactor to myself and my father: it is at his house that we live; and never until this evening were we aware of each other's avocations, in respect to the stage."