Amongst the audience constituting the Court circle were two spectators who stood somewhat apart, and beneath the arched entrance which admitted to the rude gallery constituting the dress-circle. With folded arms they watched the performance with, if possible, greater interest than any there.
They were an old and a young man, who had been drawn to see this performance from having heard the name of the author on their arrival in London. Both were from the neighbourhood of Stratford-upon-Avon, and (albeit they could scarce believe this play was the production of one whom they had long lost sight of), still they came.
As the play proceeded they became convinced from the language that it was indeed the production of the youth they had formerly known.
"By 'ur Lady," said Walter Arderne, "this must be our sometime friend!"
"No man else could have written even what we have already heard," said Sir Hugh Clopton.
"I am amazed," said Walter; "and yet I ought not, for well do I remember what the lad was."
"Hist," said Sir Hugh, "the scene is changed. Ah! and see, too, yonder masquer just now speaking those lines of fire. Is it not he?"
"It is himself!" said Walter. "O glorious fellow!"
"Soft, good Walter," said Sir Hugh. "In God's name let us hear."
As Mercutio finished his speech, the uncle and nephew looked at each other. The tears were in the eyes of Sir Hugh. "My poor Charlotte prophesied this," he said. "Rememberest thou her words about this Shakespeare when we first became acquainted with him?"