Rose Mortimer; Or, The Ballet-Girl's Revenge — page 107: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

THE BALLET-GIRL’S REVENGE. 101 en ec eeneemereeeer mee A er Chowler had ahard struggle with himself. Back he went. But he had -not advanced many steps when he ee again, irresolute whether to proceed or turn ack, Was he acting foolishly in thus hovering about Rose Mortimer ? Did the something, whatever it was, which urged him on only mean after all a desire to keep within sight of the house which contained the newly-acquired member of his company ? He could not resolve it. While thus debating the question it was answered in a sudden manner. There was a smothered shriek. A loud ery preceded if, and told Mr. Chowler that the second had been stifled while it was upon the utterer’s lips. “ Oh!” cried Chowler. But he could not move a peg. Near the house he could see some dark forms mo- ving about. Then one appeared up high, and bearing some- thing white in his arms. It needed no conjuror to divine the meaning of this. “Oh! what a fearful place!’’ said Chowler, half aloud. ‘* They’ve done it at last, in spite of me. Shall I shout out ?”’ He mentally answered, ‘‘ No!” To raise an alarm now that the deed was done would be worse than useless. It would be dangerous ! If they were such bold and unscrupulous wretches who had borne off Rose Mortimer—who paused at nothing to secure their ends—what would be _ his fate did he attempt to thwart them ? A life more or less was apparently nothing to the woman. So Chowler kept his own counsel and returned to the town. The unhappy manager spent a miserable night. He slept, it is true, but his rest was disturbed by dreams. He saw murders enacted every hour. Men in black visors came and tore off with the Dumb Boy of the Mountain Gorge, who was dressed in white. Then he went through a ballet of action in dream- land. The plot of this was the same as that of every bal- let of action. A lover (in which he recognised himself) goes to a house (a road-side inn in this case) to see his mistress. Then a rival (wearing a black mask this time) ap- pears with a lantern and a ladder. The ladder is placed against the window. and the masked ruffian enters. Re-appears, bearing the lady (Rose Mortimer), in the whitest of night garments, in his audacious arms. But there’s a sequel to the little manager’s ballet @action in dreamland. The scene changes without any noise, shuffle, or prompter’s whistle. And now Chowler finds himself in the lone house, the scene of the murder. In a chamber at the back of the house a lady, still in the snowy nightdress, sits bathed in tears. She raises her head, and Chowler sees that it is not Rose Mortimer. He forgets the poor creature’s woes in his delight, and shouts out joyfully and so loudly that he awakens himself. But it’s a cruel disappointment now! ‘‘ Dash it all!’? muttered Chowler, starting upright in the bed, ‘‘ it was so vivid and life-like. I thought that it was all true. I thought that she was saved— that I had my dumb boy back, and that she—oh, my dear Miss Mortimer! Poor creature ! Something must be done to-morrow about her,’’ CHAPTER XLII. NEXT DAY — TEN O’CLOCK REHEARSAL — MISS MORTIMER WANTING — NO, SHE COMES — CHOWLER’S DELIGHT — THE REHEARSAL —A STRANGE STORY—THE MASK AND CLOAK—THE OPENING PERFORMANCE—A FRIVATE BOX. CHOWLER arose unrefreshed by his restless slum- bers only in time to attend the full-dress rehearsal which was to take place at the theatre. Ten o’clock was the hour appointed, and at nine forty-five Chowler yet lingered upon the pillow. However, he sprang from his bed with a frightened exclamation, fell into his garments, and dashed off to the theatre. It was five minutes to ten when he walked down the side of the pit. The company were arriving. Chowler eagerly scanned the faces of all the ladies upon the stage. But Rose was not. Chowler could not be comforted, although he never thought to see her. ‘‘Miss Thingumbob aint come, sir,” said the prompter to Chowler. ‘‘Miss— I don’t know her name. The new singing chambermaid, sir.’’ *¢ Miss Mortimer ?2”’ ‘Yes, sir. It don’t look the thing for the first rehearsal with us, sir.’’ Chowler frowned. ‘Tt is not ten yet, isit?”’ é ‘“‘ No, sir, wants not quite a minute and a half,” said the prompter. “What of that?” The prompter was subdued upon the instant. He could not quite understand it, however, for this was one of the few points upon which Mr. Chowler was ordinarily very particular. Ten o’clock began to strike, and Mr. Chowler to tremble. He scarcely knew why, but it seemed to jar un- pleasantly upon his nerves. “‘Three, four—oh! she won’t—five—come now —six,seven— Eh? Hullo!” Rose Mortimer entered, upon the eighth stroke of the hour. Chowler, who was upon the stage, sprang over the floats into the orchestra to greet her, thereby causing some damage to the green baize of the big drum. ‘‘ My dear Miss Mortimer,” he cried, with extended hands, ‘ delighted to see you.” “Thank you, sir.”’ She looked very much frightened about something, and he was dying to question her. Yet he felt that he dare not speak of last night’s doings before the company. Inquiries would be made, probably, and he would earn the reputation of being a coward. No. That would never do. He must smother his curiosity until he could find a convenient opportunity of addressing her in private. And so the rehearsal proceeded. ‘Whistle up, Mr. Sniper,’? said the manager. “The Swiss chalet on.” The whistle of Mr. Sniper was heard, and up went the curtain again, upon the Swiss chalet—mountains, with frozen peaks in flat — practical bridge across ravine—slanting rocky entrance O.P., ete. ‘‘ Now then, chamois hunter,” cried Mr. Chowler. “‘ Look alive, please,”’