their fans, and returned without reserve the salutations that were
offered them.

Ralph Ray, who was there, stood at the back of the pit, and close at
his left was the sinister little man who had earlier in the evening
been described as his shadow. Their bearing towards each other was the
same as had been observed at the Cross: the one constantly
interrogating in a low voice; the other answering with a steadfast
glance or not at all.

When the curtain rose, a little butterfly creature, in the
blue-and-scarlet costume of a man,--all frills and fluffs and lace and
linen,--came forward, with many trips and skips and grimaces, and
pronounced a prologue, which consisted of a panegyric on the King and
his government in their relations to the stage.

It was not very pointed, conclusive, or emphatic, but it was rewarded
with applause, which rose to a general outburst of delighted approval
when the rigor of the "late usurpers" was gibbeted in the following
fashion:--

Affrighted with the shadow of their rage,
They broke the mirror of the times, the Stage;
The Stage against them still maintained the war,
When they debauched the Pulpit and the Bar.

"Pretty times, forsooth, of which one of that breed could be the
mirror," whispered the little man at Ralph's elbow.

The play forthwith proceeded, and proved to be the attempt of a