The various members of the company, setting out in
good time, managed to reach the theatre--though there were breathless
accounts of adventures and escapes as this one or that hurried through
the wings and down into the dressing-room corridor; but the public, not
being paid to come forth on such a night, for the most part preferred
the snugness and safety of their own homes, so that the house was but
half filled, and the faces of the scant audience were more dusky than
ever--were almost invisible--beyond the blaze of the footlights. And as
the performance proceeded, Miss Burgoyne professed to become more and
more alarmed. Dreadful reports came in from without. All traffic was
suspended. It was scarcely possible to cross a street. Even the
policemen, familiar with the thoroughfares, hardly dared leave the
pavement to escort a bewildered traveller to the other side.
When Lionel, having dressed for the last act, went into Miss Burgoyne's
room, he found her (apparently) very much perturbed.
"Have you heard? It's worse than ever!" she called to him from the inner
apartment.
"So they say."
"Whatever am I to do?" she exclaimed, her anxiety proving too much for
her grammar.
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