University of Virginia Library

9. CHAPTER IX.

I waited with indescribable impatience for the close of the
performance, and was the first, when she retired from the stage,
to leave the theatre. I went round and stationed myself at the
place of private egress. My former adventure under her window
had taught me to be cautious, and I took care to place myself
as much in shadow as possible. Here I watched and waited,
counting the moments as if they had been hours, and even reproaching
the object of my admiration, as if she had known that
I awaited her. In reality there was no great delay. It might
have been a half hour after her share in the performance was
ended when she came forth, conducted by her ancient protector.
They passed close beside me, her garments brushed against me,
and her eye, keen and quickened, as I fancied by feelings like
my own, rested full upon my face. Involuntarily, she seemed to
pause, and I trembled with a secret joy which the restraints upon
it seemed to heighten. Her attendant, however, hurried her forward,
fortunately without beholding me, and I only lingered
long enough behind to avoid awakening his suspicions.

I had not far to follow them. At the corner of the same street
a carriage stood in waiting, into which she entered, closely followed
by her protector. Vainly did I stretch my head forward
to catch the words of direction which he uttered to the driver.
My hope was about to be defeated, and all my labour taken in
vain. There was but a single alternative. I bounded forward
lightly, and, amidst the rattle of the carriage as it rolled away
from the stand, placed myself upon the flat in the rear without
detection.

Our course lay toward the suburbs, but on a side of the city as
far as possible from that which they had left. My anxieties
while we rode were prodigious. I heard the occasional words
which were spoken by those within the vehicle—those of the
man were most frequent,—hers were monosyllables only, and so
faintly spoken that I could not divine their character. I would
have given worlds to have risen upon the flat and looked in upon
the ill-connected couple, but I dared not incur the risk of such a
movement. At length we approached our stopping place. The
speed of the horses was lessened—the carriage was about to
stop, and I leapt to the ground in anticipation of this event. A
tree, one of the few which city improvements had left in the

neighbourhood, yielded me a covering from which I beheld
without difficulty the new place of retreat which the fugitives
had chosen. The edifice itself in which they lived was of that
better sort, which amply testified to the successes and improved
fortunes of the Prima Donna. It was now of brick, newly built,
two stories in height, with green blinds, a small verandah on the
southern side, and a little patch of green sward in front. You
passed to the door of the dwelling through a low white paling
gate, upon a neatly gravelled walk edged with box, trimmed
grenadier fashion, in stiff, slender and unbroken lines. I made
these observations that night after the departure of the carriage.
I gave myself ample time for the survey, for it grew rapidly to
the small hours of the morning before I left the spot and returned
to my own lodging house.

Shall I confess my folly? The next night found me again at
the theatre, and every night on which she did not perform, I was
a ghostlike stalker through the lonely street—to me not lonely—
in which she lived. She saw me not—she knew not of my
proximity, though I sometimes fancied, with the vanity of a
youthful spirit, that she suspected it. She had seen me at the
theatre—she had seen me beneath the lamp on the night when I
followed her home. She could not doubt the admiration which
was expressed by my action and my eyes, and surely, she knew
enough of the nature of man to know that where his heart is,
there will his form be also. I drew conviction, on this head, from
another fact. Nightly and constantly she sang while I traversed
the pavé before her dwelling; and the strains were those of a sad
tenderness, of a heart pouring forth the irrepressible moans of a
defeated love. At the theatre, her eyes—so I persuaded myself—
frequently sought out mine; and it seemed to me, at such moments,
that her song trembled, and her voice became subdued,
even though the burden of the music called for the greatest exertion
of her powers. How small and shadowy are the tokens
which persuade the youthful imagination into confidence and
hope!