WRITTEN 
 
 DECORATIONS 
 
 LOUISE- 
 
 BEECHER 
 CHANCELLOR 
 
 HARRV 
 
 B 
 MATTHEWS
 
 COPYRIGHT, 1909, BY 
 B. W. DODGE & COMPANY 
 
 All rights reserved 
 
 PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA
 
 UR tale begins with the com- 
 mand "Make merry," from 
 Good Queen Bess. At the 
 height of her success and 
 popularity, she is conscious 
 of the gradual passing of 
 her youth. Childhood has been sad ; 
 girlhood, oppressed by want and peril*? 
 young womanhood, weighed down by 
 cares and responsibilities such as not 
 seldom kill strong men. And now be- 
 fore old age destroys the power to 
 enjoy, there is yet a little time. Let us 
 then make merry! 
 
 There was like to be fun and frolic 
 enough to go round. For the poor, 
 
 1 
 
 ,:
 
 street pageants and processions would 
 be free. So genial was the mood of 
 the crowd that even unlicensed actors 
 and acrobats ventured to practice their 
 calling in the open streets, and though 
 the sober Puritans looked askance, 
 they dared not express their disap- 
 proval. Such disapproval might be 
 misconstrued as disloyalty. The 
 Queen was about to celebrate the 
 thirty-seventh anniversary of her 
 reign. Must not proper sympathy 
 with the occasion include sympathy 
 with even the most boisterous partici- 
 pators? 
 
 Outside the town limits, the theatres 
 were prepared to offer the most popu- 
 lar tragedies and comedies of the time; 
 for the fashion had been set at court, 
 and it was heralded abroad that the 
 actors of the Rose Theatre were to 
 play for the Queen. The brilliant 
 Earl of Leicester had been the first 
 patron of this company, and during his 
 2
 
 O' I/ON DON 
 
 life the players had won great favor at 
 court. At present they held their 
 license from Hunsdon, the Queen's 
 chamberlain, and their success still 
 continued. 
 
 But while Elizabeth licensed a com- 
 pany of her own, which proudly bore 
 the title of the Queen's Players, it was 
 not likely that the selection of another 
 group of actors for her amusement 
 could give universal satisfaction. The 
 Queen's Players were devoured with 
 jealous rage ; only fear of losing their 
 license prevented a boisterous display 
 of animosity against the chamberlain's 
 company. Lord Hunsdon's men were 
 hard to reach. They lodged within 
 hailing distance of their theatre on the 
 Bankside, Southwark. They were a 
 group of devoted friends, and came 
 and went in goodly numbers. There 
 was no rivalry among them, and none 
 of the disorder caused by indiscretion 
 and Use majestCj which so often 

 
 O' LONDON 
 
 brought about the withdrawal of li- 
 censes from the other companies of the 
 period, and all too frequently landed 
 their performers in jail. 
 
 The resultant good standing of 
 Lord Hunsdon's men made it unsafe 
 for the Queen's Players to engage 
 them in a brawl ; the underlying motive 
 would be too plain. And yet a vague 
 rumor was abroad, hinting that there 
 was trouble in store for the Lord 
 Chamberlain's Players. Who was 
 responsible for such a rumor, no one 
 could tell; and what manner of calam- 
 ity should befall, no one knew. But 
 certain it is, that the day before the 
 festivities, Philip Condell was ailing; 
 and that on the morning of the seven- 
 teenth, he was ill of a fever. 
 
 Now, to be ill of a fever is common 
 enough even in our times. Philip 
 Condell had been a member of the com- 
 pany only a few weeks, and that he 
 should be the one stricken down 
 4
 
 seemed innocent enough. But to 
 those of the inner circle, who under- 
 stood that because of him a certain 
 play had been selected, to those who 
 had seen his lovely face and who knew 
 that he was to play a woman's part, the 
 fact that he should be stricken so sud- 
 denly was a proof of villainy; and 
 more than one man felt that if he 
 dared he could tell where the blame 
 belonged. 
 
 The head of Lord Hunsdon's play- 
 ers at this time was the elder Burbage. 
 He was fortunate enough to have in 
 his company an assistant who relieved 
 him of the duties of stage manager, 
 and made it possible for him, while 
 running the finest company in Lon- 
 don, to devote most of his time to busi- 
 ness ventures. 
 
 Burbage was interested in building 
 
 and improving theatres, and ran a 
 
 paying livery stable in connection with 
 
 them. The young man who made 
 
 5
 
 o'ix>rsrtx>N 
 
 these outside enterprises possible was 
 beginning to attract considerable at- 
 tention by his writing of poems and 
 plays. He was not a native Lon- 
 doner, but had been driven by personal 
 misfortunes to seek a living in the city. 
 Though he entered Burbage's com- 
 pany in a humble capacity, his versa- 
 tility soon made him invaluable. He 
 was a veritable Jack-of-all-trades, and 
 could turn from stage-carpentiy to 
 playwriting as easily as he could take 
 the place of an absent musician or find 
 the stone in a lame horse's foot. But 
 if he excelled in one thing more than 
 another, it was in making friends. 
 His tact was so fine that, coming as an 
 outsider into the company, he had 
 worked his way into leadership with- 
 out creating opposition or jealousy. 
 While one of the foremost actors of 
 his day, his physique was not equal to 
 that of Richard Burbage, the man- 
 ager's son; and he never encroached on
 
 O'L-ONDOrSf 
 
 the latter's right to be called the lead- 
 ing tragedian of London. 
 
 In considering Master Will Shak- 
 spere intimately, one must realize the 
 rare personal charm and the lovable 
 characteristics that made his success 
 possible. But for these qualities, he 
 would have remained an alien and a 
 countryman among his town-bred 
 companions. No amount of genius 
 alone could have surmounted that one 
 insuperable barrier, lack of opportu- 
 nity. His associates enjoyed him; 
 therefore, they welcomed him and 
 made way for him. Shakspere was 
 liked before he was admired; he was 
 loved before he was revered.
 
 In which Lord Hunsdon's Players 
 meet with an unforeseen calamity. 
 
 O the lodgings of Master 
 Will Shakspere came a 
 hurried messenger at dawn 
 on the Jubilee morning. He 
 brought bad tidings. Philip 
 Condell's condition was very 
 
 jfrot from t&e star* *o 3 mp jtrtffment pitttfe, 
 atnU pet met&infca % fcatoe aatronorap, 
 ^3ut not to tell of ebil lucfe." 
 
 Sonnet XIV.
 
 grave, and the two Burbages ur- 
 gently commanded that Master Will 
 should at once see what had best 
 be done. It was evidently beyond 
 their power to plan the next move. 
 
 "Have you a fast horse outside?" 
 asked Will of the man. 
 
 "No, but the best in the stable is at 
 your service. Master Burbage said 
 that if you could think of anyone to 
 take the part " 
 
 "We must not waste time in such an 
 effort," interrupted Shakspere. "How 
 could one be found to take the lead- 
 ing part in a new play? My lines 
 must be given. There is not a soul in 
 London or in all England who can 
 act the part of Juliet, save Philip 
 Condell. For him the part was writ- 
 ten. Moreover, it is his beauty that 
 is to be my excuse at court for show- 
 ing them a tragedy instead of the fun 
 they love. 
 
 "Look now!" and he turned to the 
 10
 
 messenger with great seriousness. 
 "Will you carry out my commands 
 without fail? We are disgraced and 
 undone if aught goes amiss to-day !" 
 
 "But all has gone amiss!" groaned 
 the fellow. "Lay it not to me!" 
 
 "Oh, you give up hope too soon! 
 Success comes not that way. I have 
 in mind a possible remedy for our 
 trouble. John Florio, an Italian 
 scholar, is now in attendance upon my 
 Lord, the Earl of Southampton. 
 With the store of classical knowledge 
 in his brain is also much that is of won- 
 derful use. He can send Philip a po- 
 tion to help him through the day. 
 I will write a brief letter, and do you 
 get an audience with Signor Florio 
 and explain to him fully the whole 
 matter. You will find him at White- 
 hall, where my Lord attends the 
 Queen during these festivities." 
 
 "And do you believe that he can ef- 
 11
 
 O' LONDON 
 
 feet a cure so speedily?" asked the man 
 with some incredulity. 
 
 "If he cannot cure," assured Shak- 
 spere, "he can at least arrest the prog- 
 ress of the disease for a day or two. 
 These Italians are as far ahead of us 
 in science as they are in art and poetry. 
 Signer Florio has a fluid, which I have 
 tasted, a veritable water of life. I am 
 convinced that it will support Philip 
 through the day, and after that let 
 come what may!" 
 
 But though he had filled his emis- 
 sary with sufficient enthusiasm to in- 
 sure the faithful carrying out of the 
 errand, Shakspere himself was far 
 from satisfied with the prospect before 
 him. He wrote the missive and bade 
 the man make all possible haste, ad- 
 vising him to ride a certain roan mare 
 that he knew to be fleet and sure-foot- 
 ed ; his fondness for her had heretofore 
 kept him from dwelling upon her good 
 points to others. 
 
 12
 
 p 
 
 He looked out of his window to be 
 
 m 
 
 4 
 
 SB 
 
 r?J 
 
 sure that the fellow was making haste, 
 
 fSs 
 
 
 
 - 
 
 
 
 and felt satisfied to see him running in 
 
 ^ 
 
 
 
 
 the direction of the stables. The hour 
 
 
 
 
 
 was still early, and but few people 
 
 
 
 
 
 were abroad. Yet Shakspere knew 
 
 
 
 
 
 that on holidays folks bestir themselves 
 
 
 
 
 
 betimss, and that the thoroughfares 
 
 
 
 
 
 would soon be crowded; then the 
 
 
 
 
 
 rider's chance for speed would be 
 
 
 
 
 
 doubtful. 
 
 
 
 
 
 He proceeded to dress himself with 
 
 
 
 
 
 the care that befitted the occasion, but 
 
 
 
 
 
 his heart was heavy indeed. Here 
 
 
 
 
 
 was the long expected day that should 
 
 
 
 
 
 have brought the hour of his triumph. 
 
 
 
 
 
 Now his only wish was that all might 
 
 
 
 
 
 be over as quickly as possible. 
 
 
 
 
 
 "Cruel!" he muttered, "a dastardly 
 
 
 
 
 
 cruel deed to aim a blow at that help- 
 
 
 
 
 
 less boy! Burbage could better have 
 
 
 
 
 
 been spared. I should have made 
 
 
 
 
 
 shift to play Romeo. But the Juliet 
 
 
 
 
 
 on whom I have set my heart, and for 
 
 
 
 
 
 13 
 
 A 
 
 
 ) 
 
 \ yv \ 
 
 \ \ n
 
 whose face I have been thanking my 
 fortunate star! It seems like striking 
 a woman when the cowards turn 
 against what is so fair and young! 
 Poor child, he must wish that he had 
 never left the Cathedral Choir to join 
 such a set of rascals as the London 
 players prove to be!" 
 
 14 

 
 II 
 
 In which a woman is unsuccessful 
 
 ALF an hour later the 
 principal actors of the 
 Rose Theatre were gath- 
 ered in the narrow street in 
 front of Philip Condell's 
 lodgings. On the low 
 doorstep stood a tall, handsome, pow- 
 
 ftotu tottb tbits rag? shall brant? bolU a plea . 
 action ie no Btronjer tfcan a flotoerl" 
 
 Sonnet LXV.
 
 (erful man. He was facing the 
 crowd and declaiming tragically. As 
 Shakspere sauntered up from the di- 
 rection of the Bear Garden near which 
 pe lived, the orator broke off his 
 harangue and gave a shout: 
 
 "Hello! Hello! What news, Will? 
 What are we to do?" 
 
 "You have the latest news!" an- 
 swered the other. "What is the re- 
 port from within?" 
 
 "Philip Condell is taken with the 
 fever," replied Burbage. "The nurse 
 says that he cannot play to-day, and 
 his sister would not even let me see 
 him. I announce, therefore, that the 
 play is off. It would be impossible 
 if or me to go on with my part without 
 |his support." 
 
 A chorus of sighs and groans fol- 
 llowed, but Thomas Armin spoke up 
 hopefully: 
 
 "The play must be changed; let us 
 give something else. Why not 'Mid- 
 16 
 
 s
 
 summer Night's Dream'? It pleased 
 Lord Bedford so well that the Queen 
 could not take it amiss." 
 
 "Nay, now! My new play shall be 
 played this night!" declared Shakspere 
 convincingly. "Who supposes that I 
 would demean her Majesty by produc- 
 ing a play that all the town knows was 
 written for my Lord Bedford's wed- 
 ding? This is no ordinary occasion! 
 Our success to-day means not only our 
 success as individuals, but as a com- 
 pany. More than that, it may mean 
 the raising of our profession to the 
 dignity that befits gentlemen. We 
 are rising above the evil report that 
 dubs us unstable roysterers. We are 
 called to the highest presence in the 
 land ! Here is a chance for success and 
 honor! And shall we let a rival troupe 
 undo us and gloat over our defeat? Go 
 up, Burbage, and bring Condell out to 
 the light! Let us see how sick he is! 
 The fresh air can do him no harm." 
 17
 
 O'lvONDON 
 
 The speaker's words were followed 
 by an astonished silence; without mak- 
 ing any response, Burbage turned and 
 re-entered the house. As he did so 
 Tom Armin called out encouragingly: 
 
 "Thou art strong enough; he need 
 not be afraid to trust thee!" 
 
 "Bring him down, or we shall go up 
 for ourselves, to see how sick he is," 
 spoke up Sly, "and whether he does 
 right to run the chance of disgracing 
 us." 
 
 "He might better play to-night and 
 then die," announced the play-writer 
 calmly. "But, Burbage," he added, 
 "bring him down exceeding careful." 
 
 In an agony of suspense, Shakspere 
 waited, his face pale with agitation, his 
 nervous hands clenched. In his heart, 
 he knew that his decision to present a 
 tragedy before the fun-loving Queen 
 was the height of audacity. To him- 
 self he had confessed from the first 
 that he was taking a great risk. The 
 
 Jy\
 
 O'LcONlDON 
 
 success of his new play at Court would 
 mean his own personal success; it 
 would justify the friendship of certain 
 men in high places. With the delib- 
 erate intention of making a dramatic 
 sensation, he had taken a popular Ital- 
 ian plot and put his whole soul into 
 it, counting on Philip's exquisite ren- 
 dering of Juliet, and Burbage's im- 
 passioned acting of Romeo to take the 
 Court by storm. The egotism of 
 genius now caused him to feel that the 
 success of his effort must be secured 
 at any cost; in comparison with this 
 success, nothing else seemed of conse- 
 quence. 
 
 Meanwhile, the stalwart Burbage 
 ascended the stairs, and entered a small 
 room with a sunny window that over- 
 looked the street. 
 
 A young woman was looking 
 through the shutters at the little crowd 
 below. When Burbage entered, she 
 19 

 
 w 
 
 sprang between him and a door at the 
 side of the room, crying wrathfully : 
 
 "You shall not have him!" 
 
 The man folded his arms with an air 
 of patient endurance, but said nothing. 
 
 The girl kept her post. 
 
 "My brother is not a slave!" she ex- 
 claimed, flashing indignant dark eyes 
 on the intruder. "Pray tell me, is his 
 present calling deemed so low that he 
 may be jested with while dying?" 
 
 "Most fair lady," responded the 
 other, "I should be sad, indeed, did I 
 believe your brother to be fighting 
 with death! The height of his fever 
 will not be reached for several days, 
 and we who are actors believe it would 
 only ease his mind to go through the 
 part on which his mind is set. In any 
 case, we insist on judging for ourselves 
 whether or not he is able to go with us. 
 For Philip's own sake, every effort 
 must be made so that he may return 
 Lord Hunsdon's license, which would 
 20 
 
 v\ 
 
 1
 
 
 certainly be revoked, if through him 
 the Queen's performance should prove 
 a misadventure. In that case, not only 
 will he be ruined, but all his fellow- 
 players will share the disgrace. Now, 
 see! This at least is true: if we take 
 him with us, we can begin the play ; and 
 if he faint or fail before the Queen, we 
 have a man among us who will spin off 
 such a sonnet as will overcome her old 
 heart with rapture! Cynthia's fair 
 beams will have cast a spell over her 
 humble servitor, who swoons at sight 
 of her beauty !" 
 
 "Her beauty! I thought the Queen 
 too old for beauty!" 
 
 "Ah, sweet Phyllis, Majesty is never 
 old, and Majesty is always beautiful." 
 
 "Oh, how he has been rejoicing in 
 this opportunity!" exclaimed the girl. 
 "To play for the Queen! He has been 
 living for weeks in the hope of this 
 very chance. How perfectly he gave 
 
 21
 
 o 1 lrONT>orsr 
 
 the lines! How beautiful he looked! 
 And oh, to think of his losing all!" 
 
 "He must not!" responded Bur- 
 bage. Now, fond sister that you are, 
 help the old nurse to dress our dear 
 Philip, and then trust him to me. I 
 will guard him so that even his twin 
 sister Phyllis need have no fear for 
 him. I will carry him as tenderly as 
 though he were of spun glass." 
 
 The girl shook her head sorrowfully. 
 "You do not know how sick he is," she 
 said. "And yet to ruin his life when 
 his future is so full of promise ! Oh, I 
 know not what to do !" Her eyes filled 
 with tears. 
 
 "He must come with me," said Bur- 
 bage. 
 
 She turned a pale face to him and 
 exclaimed breathlessly: 
 
 "You would be very kind and 
 good?" 
 
 "I swear it!" he answered. 
 
 She walked slowly to the inner door, 
 2%
 
 and Burbage eyed with wonder the two 
 long braids of black hair which fell like 
 thick ropes almost to the hem of her 
 dress. He thought half indignantly 
 of the inferior beauty of Mistress Ver- 
 non's hair, which was one of the Court 
 sensations. 
 
 Phyllis passed into her brother's 
 room and closed tfie door behind her. 
 Though the heavy stone walls made it 
 impossible for words to be heard from 
 one room to the next, the actor felt the 
 scene that was taking place so near 
 him. He could see in imagination the 
 despairing quiver of the girl's lips, and 
 the tears, kept back in his presence, 
 that now brimmed over while she at- 
 tired her beloved brother, as for sac- 
 rifice.
 
 In which Philip is encouraged to make 
 an effort 
 
 HE doorway was watched 
 eagerly by the group of 
 men whose fortune was at 
 stake, and when at last Rich- 
 ard Burbage appeared, carry- 
 ing their missing comrade, a 
 
 fjira as for a map Until -Batttre store 
 Co sljoiu false &rt to&at Ijratttu toas of pore/' 
 Sonnet
 
 sigh of relief went up as from a single 
 man. 
 
 Will Shakspere pressed hurriedly 
 forward and seized one of the boy's 
 limp hands. He felt the pulse-beat, 
 and then touched Philip's forehead 
 with his palm, the better to judge the 
 height of the fever. The look of the 
 face disturbed him. Philip's eyes 
 were large and wild. His soft dark 
 hair emphasized the clearness of his 
 skin, which was like ivory except where 
 the cheeks glowed crimson with fever. 
 
 "Disease, how beautiful thou art!" 
 exclaimed Master Will. "Burbage, 
 he will look the woman, will he not? 
 But, oh Lord! How sick he must be to 
 show so red and white! Is he con- 
 scious? Does he know us at all? 
 Philip, do you remember me? Who 
 is it?" 
 
 "It is the lark, the herald of the 
 morn," murmured the boy, closing his 
 eyes with a faint smile. 
 25 
 
 T 

 
 At the reply, a shout of delight 
 arose. 
 
 "If he can quote from the play as 
 well as that, he can act. Eh, fellows ?" 
 asked Burbage. "What say you? He 
 does not rave who calls our songster a 
 lark!" 
 
 "Huzza!" cried the players, as their 
 prize was carried off in triumph. 
 
 Burbage and the young actor kept 
 up a stream of tender assurances and 
 encouraging words. 
 
 "I shall prove a better physician 
 than that you have left," whispered 
 Burbage. "Sister Phyllis is far too 
 exciting as a nurse, and the old aunt is 
 enough to scare a sick man into the 
 grave. We shall do well by you, 
 Philip! Do you rest comfortably on 
 my shoulder? Lie quiet, I feel you no 
 more than a feather's weight. You 
 wanted to come with us, did you not?" 
 
 "You came to save my name and to 
 make my romance immortal!" ex- 
 26
 
 claimed Will Shakspere tenderly. "I 
 shall look to you as to the apple of my 
 eye. Anything you need, you have but 
 to whisper to me. I will rock you to 
 sleep in my arms or tell you stories the 
 night through, so you do not fail me 
 in this! Can you go through with it, 
 Philip ? I have sent to the Palace for 
 a potion that will help you." 
 
 "Peace, peace!" murmured the boy 
 wearily. "My brain is seething!" 
 
 It was now toward nine o'clock in 
 the morning, and a rehearsal was 
 called at the Rose before the company 
 should march to Whitehall. There 
 the hour for the performance had not 
 been set, and the players would await 
 the Queen's pleasure. 
 
 Shakspere was in torture between 
 hope and fear. Would Philip's 
 strength hold out until the message re- 
 turned from Whitehall? And why 
 was the man so long? He suggested 
 that the boy should save himself from 
 27
 
 O'lXXNDON 
 
 fatigue by omitting all the long pas- 
 sages and giving only the cues; but 
 Philip said that such a course would 
 only confuse him, while it could not in- 
 spire the rest of the cast. 
 
 "Your patience, gentlemen, and I 
 think I can get through the day," he 
 added with a courage that was new to 
 him. 
 
 Philip Condell had always been 
 somewhat shy and timid, but now, 
 though he clung like a sick child to the 
 two who had made him their special 
 charge, he showed considerable pluck. 
 
 As the rehearsal progressed, a new 
 charm was discovered in him, a certain 
 beauty and delicacy born of his illness. 
 His failure to remember the proper 
 exits and entrances, and his hesitation 
 in regard to the stage business would 
 ordinarily have called down a storm of 
 rebuke on his head, for Shakspere was 
 an exacting master. But now all was 
 tender consideration. Joy welled in 
 28
 
 the poet's breast as it became apparent 
 that whatever else was forgotten, the 
 boy remembered the lines he had 
 learned so thoroughly previous to his 
 illness. There was no hesitation, and 
 the words came clear and sweet. How 
 exquisite the voice! How tender the 
 love scenes ! How awful the tragedy ! 
 
 "He has been near the other world," 
 whispered one ; "the spirits have taught 
 him!" 
 
 "Oh, Philip, only do as well at 
 Court!" entreated Burbage. 
 
 But Shakspere flung his arms 
 around the boy's neck and kissed him. 
 "Truly, I have made a pretty part for 
 you," he said, "and only Juliet's death 
 insures my forgiveness for showing the 
 Court how lovely a woman might be !" 
 
 They sat down on the edge of the 
 stage so that Philip could rest while 
 the procession was forming to march to 
 the Palace. 
 
 "Tell me, Shakspere," said the boy, 
 29 

 
 taking his friend's hand affectionately, 
 "how did you so well know what a 
 woman would say and do?" 
 
 Shakspere's keen eyes clouded. 
 
 "It is not what she would say and do 
 it is only what she ought to say and 
 do. Women never do as they ought 
 except in my plays!" he added, bit- 
 terly. 
 
 Philip closed his eyes with a sigh, 
 and the long dark lashes swept his 
 cheek. 
 
 "I hope that is untrue," he said at 
 last, "but even in these plays of yours 
 do the men and women suit you? Fool- 
 ish Romeo loving Rosaline and killing 
 himself a few days later for Juliet!" 
 
 "Simpleton, a man may love a thou- 
 sand times as Romeo loved Rosaline! 
 He can love only once as Romeo loved 
 Juliet ! Do you understand ?" 
 
 The boy's cheeks flushed, but he con- 
 tinued audaciously: "Why his haste? 
 A little more patience, and they might 
 30
 
 have been united, the happiest of 
 lovers!" 
 
 "The happiest? Those that love 
 and die young! Their union is more 
 perfect in death than it could ever be 
 in life!" 
 
 "No, no, Will Shakspere! My heart 
 breaks for Juliet! Why does she not 
 flee with Romeo to share his banish- 
 ment in Mantua? It is what I would 
 have done!" 
 
 "What you would have done, my 
 sweet boy? Why, Juliet was a lady! 
 She had the courage to face death, but 
 not disgrace. We must not ask that 
 of woman, it is a doubtful virtue." 
 
 The players were now ready to 
 march to Whitehall, each one made 
 gay in a scarlet silk cloak. These 
 cloaks, presented by the Queen, were 
 nothing more than wide scarfs, and 
 were worn folded around the body with 
 an end flowing loose from the left 
 shoulder. Philip trembled as he stood 
 31 

 
 O' LONDON 
 
 up to be draped in the garment. Bur- 
 bage had secured a sedan chair for him 
 to ride in, but the boy grew paler and 
 paler each moment, and when he was 
 about to step in, he turned half faint- 
 ing toward Shakspere. 
 
 "I cannot go!" he gasped. 
 "Strength fails me!" 
 
 No sympathy came from that quar- 
 ter. 
 
 "Shame upon you! Here you have 
 been chattering to me like a magpie 
 when your tongue should have had a 
 rest. I believe you are more fright- 
 ened than sick! You act like a very 
 girl! Fainting, indeed, at such a time 
 as this! Here, Sly, some liquor to 
 hearten this babe! 
 
 "Burbage, for God's sake, see if that 
 man has returned from Whitehall! I 
 could have come and gone twenty 
 times in this space. He may be wait- 
 ing at my lodgings. Send there and 
 to the stables." 
 
 32 

 
 IB 
 
 For a few minutes, all was excite- 
 
 Hf 
 
 s 
 
 ment. Sly hurried in with a cup of 
 
 K 
 
 ES 
 
 4 
 
 warm Malmsey wine, and Burbage re- 
 
 G f~ 
 
 - 
 
 
 
 turned with a small phial, which he 
 
 ' 
 
 
 
 
 slipped into Shakspere's hand, unob- 
 
 
 
 
 
 served. The contents were emptied 
 
 
 
 
 
 into the cup of wine, and then the 
 
 
 
 
 
 whole was poured down Philip's un- 
 
 
 
 
 
 willing throat. It must have been a 
 
 
 
 
 
 strong dose, for tears of indignant pro- 
 
 
 
 
 
 test were forced from his eyes. Then, 
 
 
 
 
 
 coughing and sputtering, he was hus- 
 
 
 
 
 
 tled into the chair without further 
 
 
 
 
 
 ceremony. 
 
 
 
 
 
 "Lock the door, now that our bird 
 
 
 
 
 
 is safe inside," advised Shakspere. 
 
 
 
 
 
 Burbage turned the key. 
 
 
 
 
 
 "I believe he would run away if he 
 
 
 
 
 
 had the power," he said. "He acts 
 
 
 
 
 
 like one bewitched." 
 
 
 
 
 
 "Yes," replied Shakspere, "and it is 
 
 
 
 
 
 not hard to guess whose poison has be- 
 
 
 
 
 
 witched him. They knew my hopes 
 
 
 
 
 
 were pinned on this boy." 
 
 
 
 
 
 33 
 
 / 
 
 . 
 \ 
 
 
 1 
 
 
 i
 
 1 
 
 "The poison is somewhat slow of 
 working." 
 
 "The boy drinks less than we. He 
 has not had enough to kill him. A few 
 more drams would have done it. But 
 we look well after our fellows, Bur- 
 bage. We shall pull him through." 
 
 34 

 
 IV 
 
 In which we meet an Earl and a 
 Mother. 
 
 HE procession now issued 
 from the main door of the 
 theatre, where a throng of 
 people waited to see the for- 
 tunate men selected to pro- 
 vide amusement for the 
 
 art tb? motber'0 jjlagg, an* a&e in t&ee 
 Call* batfc t&* Utoelp 2lptU of &er prime.*' 
 
 Sonnet III.
 
 Queen. Many a friendly greeting 
 was shouted, and many an exclamation 
 of admiration was called forth by the 
 beautiful costumes of the players; for 
 Lord Hunsdon's retinue went bravely 
 attired. 
 
 On the next corner, a number of 
 rival actors from The Curtain has as- 
 sembled with a few unpleasant missiles 
 concealed under their doublets. These 
 were intended for Philip; the ill-na- 
 tured fellows rightly judged that some 
 old eggs and vegetables would take the 
 courage out of him, and might even 
 bring tears to his girl face. He was 
 no expert at managing a sword or any 
 other weapon, and there was nothing 
 to fear from him. 
 
 But while they waited for the boy, 
 the procession passed on, and the occu- 
 pant of the sedan chair slept. Had 
 Philip been sitting upright, he would 
 have been discovered; but he had 
 curled down in the bottom of the chair, 
 36 
 
 ~ 
 
 IT 
 

 
 
 his head resting on the cushioned seat. 
 The steady tread of the bearers caused 
 a gentle rocking motion; and so light 
 was the burden within that they carried 
 the chair as though unconscious of 
 its weight. Its place in the proces- 
 sion seemed only that of stage para- 
 phernalia, of which there was little 
 enough in those days. 
 
 The sudden jolt, as the men came to 
 a halt at the Palace, aroused Philip to 
 life's exciting realities. He looked 
 out of the window in time to see Shak- 
 spere embraced by a young nobleman 
 of great beauty and elegance. Philip 
 felt a pang of envy as he recognized 
 in him Henry Wriothsley, the Earl of 
 Southampton, who was the most 
 petted and admired youth of his time 
 and Shakspere's devoted friend as well. 
 
 A moment later, Shakspere bade 
 adieu to his admirer, and hastened to 
 see how it fared with his boy in the 
 sedan chair. 
 
 37 
 
 c
 
 "Art more thyself, my Philip?" he 
 asked. 
 
 "Yes, the drink has made me as 
 strong as a lion, and the sleep was even 
 better it has given back my wits." 
 
 "Thank God for that! My friend 
 the Earl of Southampton is like to lose 
 his wits. I wonder if I could win them 
 back to him so easily!" 
 
 "What ails him? So fair and rich 
 and noble! Gifted, too, is he not?" 
 
 "Yes, yes, you speak as though you 
 knew him! He is all that you say, and 
 more. But he was never made for the 
 Court; his nature is too frank and 
 open, his temper too quick; his im- 
 pulses are too generous, and his heart 
 is too affectionate. All the qualities 
 that make him adorable, at the same 
 time, combine to undo him. It is said 
 the Queen mothers him with a patience 
 to make the world marvel ; but even so, 
 he leaves her presence often enough in 
 disgrace." 
 
 38 
 
 i::
 
 O T LONDON 
 
 "They are having a hard time to 
 marry him. Two years ago, they 
 picked out a wife, cousin to Lord Bur- 
 leigh, but his Grace of Southampton 
 refused to consent to the banns. Last 
 year, he gave unwilling assent when 
 Lady Betty Manners was proposed, 
 but lo! my Lady would have none of 
 him! 'In sooth, he is too light a weight 
 for me/ says she, but she knows well 
 that my Lord prefers a brunette. He 
 will love you, Philip." 
 
 "Now heaven forbid!" exclaimed 
 Philip. "I should not wish to be your 
 rival, and as Juliet I shall not be a bru- 
 nette. More's the pity! for my sister 
 might have given me her braids." 
 
 Lord Hunsdon's proteges were pro- 
 vided with a large room near the grand 
 chamber in which the play was to be 
 performed, but my Lord had not 
 thought it necessary to tell them at 
 what hour they would be called upon. 
 The jousts in the tilt yard were under 
 39
 
 way with every likelihood of lasting 
 through the afternoon; and the pros- 
 pect would have been dull enough for 
 the players, had not word come from 
 the Earl of Southampton that one of 
 his tents was at their disposal, with suf- 
 ficient space for them all to watch the 
 magnificent spectacle. 
 
 The tournament in the sixteenth 
 century had lost the excitement of the 
 tourneys of medieval times. It had 
 developed into a more formal and less 
 warlike exhibition, and offered a pe- 
 culiarly fortunate occasion for display- 
 ing the splendor in which the Court 
 delighted. Instead of the heavy iron 
 mail of previous years, there was worn 
 light body armor of glittering gold 
 and silver richly damascened, or of 
 steel chain as fine as serpent's scales. 
 Horses, richly caparisoned, seemed not 
 less proud than their knightly riders. 
 Around the lists were bright silk tents 
 in all manner of oriental colors. In 
 40
 
 front of the different tents hung the 
 arms and banners of the contestants. 
 
 The Court occupied a canopied pa- 
 vilion at the head of the tilt yard, with 
 the Queen's throne in the centre. She 
 was the jewel for which the rest of the 
 exhibition was but the chosen setting. 
 
 The actors had just taken their 
 places, when Shakspere was called 
 aside to speak with Lady Southamp- 
 ton. She sat under the silken canopies 
 at some distance to the left of the 
 Queen, who had no special fondness 
 for her. Still a young woman, she re- 
 tained decided traces of beauty, though 
 the refinement of form and feature 
 that characterized her son were now 
 lacking in her. 
 
 She held out her hand very gracious- 
 ly at Master Will's approach. He 
 kissed it, and she murmured hastily : 
 
 "I have a little commission for you, 
 Master Shakspere a sonnet on the 
 advantages of early marriage. Some- 
 
 41
 
 in your choicest vein! You 
 my meaning you know my 
 
 thing 
 guess 
 son!" 
 
 "I am my Lord's devoted slave; and 
 he, his mother's mirror! In his face, 
 you behold the lovely April of your 
 youth. Your meaning is that in his 
 prime he, too, should have such a glass 
 to look upon. 
 
 "Ah, yes! That is better than I can 
 say it. Go tell the Earl in a gentle 
 sonnet, Master Shakspere, a sonnet 
 that he will show in his pride to the 
 young lords that know him best! And 
 so even the ladies shall hear of it." 
 
 "Should I refer to Betty Manners 
 I mean to better manners, Madame? 
 More consideration from my Lord to 
 a certain Lady?" 
 
 "Better manners will do well for 
 your own study, Sir Impudence, as 
 well as for my son!" responded the 
 Countess, her gorgeous shoulders shak- 
 ing with laughter. 
 
 42
 
 "But I pardon the slip. Leave that 
 Lady out of your sonnet. No woman 
 shall have the chance to refuse his 
 Lordship twice." 
 
 "Go now, you have upset my sedate- 
 ness already. Lord, sir! I would we 
 had a few tongues like yours at Court. 
 But no! Life would be too vivacious. 
 Your visits are frequent enough, in all 
 conscience." 
 
 "Yes, Madame, but always desired. 
 For they depend upon the demand for 
 them, and cease when that ceases." 
 
 "In so much, you have the best of 
 us," she admitted. "Many of us re- 
 main, perforce, unwilling guests of an 
 uncertain hostess." 
 
 The last was whispered behind her 
 fan. 
 
 "You have my commission," she con- 
 tinued, dismissing him with a nod and 
 a smile. 
 
 The young actor bowed and with- 
 drew. His bearing was graceful, but 
 
 43
 
 O LONDON 
 
 proud, with a consciousness of power 
 that was not unpleasing. 
 
 "Were it not for that mountebank's 
 cloak and feather, one might take him 
 for a Prince!" exclaimed a lady at the 
 side of the Countess. 
 
 "Proud he is, and proud he may well 
 be ! A young Lucifer," asserted Lady 
 Southampton with some asperity. 
 "Pray, were you not at Court when he 
 called himself 'Cousin' to our Queen?" 
 
 "What jest is this?" queried Mis- 
 tress Vernon, quite scandalized. 
 
 "Well, it was a jest, but so cleverly 
 put ! I laugh now to think of it. 
 
 "Her Majesty was sitting in front 
 of the stage, and Master Will Shak- 
 spere was taking the part of the King 
 about to lead the army to battle. Oh, 
 he was so grand ! One's hair fairly rose 
 on end! We were all wrought up to a 
 frenzy of excitement, when her Maj- 
 esty we know her love of fun 
 44
 
 O' 
 
 
 leaned forward and dropped a glove 
 
 rc- 1 ' 
 
 m 
 
 ,. 
 
 Z2 
 
 at his feet. 
 
 r 
 cZl 
 
 $P 
 
 "Such an interruption! you will say, 
 
 
 
 
 for he must needs stop playing the 
 
 
 
 King to play the page, and kneel to 
 
 
 
 return the token with stammering and 
 
 
 
 confusion! Oh, no, not at all! My 
 
 
 
 young Master proceeds as King : 
 
 
 
 " 'But though bent upon this high em- 
 
 
 
 bassy, 
 
 
 
 First stoop we to pick up our 
 
 
 
 Cousin's glove!' 
 
 
 
 " 'Our Cousin's glove/ mind you! 
 
 
 
 With that, he hands it to her bowing, 
 
 
 
 and goes on with his lines." 
 
 
 
 "God ha' mercy! And what said the 
 
 
 
 Queen?" 
 
 
 
 "She smiled at him and whispered, 
 
 
 
 'Faith, Coz, I would my tongue were 
 
 
 
 as quick as thine/ " 
 
 
 
 The Countess of Southampton 
 
 
 
 paused, well satisfied with the impres- 
 
 
 
 45 
 

 
 sion made. She had chosen this as 
 an opportunity to force Mistress Ver- 
 non to believe something that she was 
 anxious to have her believe, which was 
 that the mother of the Earl of South- 
 ampton selected his friends. One 
 whom she would never select or ap- 
 prove was this same beautiful woman 
 sitting next to her, whose dark eyes 
 were continually seeking, hungrily 
 seeking, the young Earl as he rode, the 
 fairest knight in that gay cavalcade. 
 
 Lady Southampton watched her 
 from time to time as a cat watches a 
 mouse. 
 
 "Ah, no!" she exclaimed to herself, 
 with inward satisfaction. "You will 
 not have a chance at him here, beside 
 his mother. I am near you, young 
 mistress, not because I love you far 
 from it!" 
 
 46 

 
 In which Philip objects 
 
 HAKSPERE returned 
 to find his companions en- 
 gaged in a heated discus- 
 sion with one of the retainers 
 of the Earl of Bedford That 
 young Lord, in imitation of 
 his friend, Southampton, or perhaps 
 
 "(5rrat princes' fatoorites tbrtr fair Icaurs spreafc 
 38 at 30 t|)c mart 50 la at tijc sun's rpc." 
 
 Bonnet XX"F.
 
 inspired by his gifted wife, had decided 
 to become a patron of the arts. But 
 failing to put much wit into the mat- 
 ter, perhaps having little to spare, he 
 had picked out an unlikely protege in 
 the person of Philip, whose only desire 
 at this time was to be let alone. 
 
 Burbage was talking, while Philip, 
 who had backed into a corner of the 
 tent, seemed about to edge his way 
 through the silken wall behind him. 
 Shakspere stood an amused listener. 
 
 "To the gracious Earl, many 
 thanks! His favor shall be accepted 
 later on, but our friend here, our lad of 
 the pretty face, has no disposition for 
 gayety. He is already over-awed at 
 the prospect of appearing before her 
 Majesty. So with our humblest 
 
 "I was to speak to the lad!" inter- 
 rupted the attendant, surlily. "As yet 
 I have had no word with him!" 
 
 "Nor can have," said Shakspere. 
 "Our comrade is ill. We fear he may 
 48 
 
 JU
 
 be unable to perform his duty to her 
 Majesty, and I have been ordered by 
 Lord Hunsdon to keep a strict watch 
 upon him." 
 
 "A warm couch in my Lordship's 
 apartments would give him more com- 
 fort than he will find with Hunsdon's 
 men. But perhaps you players have 
 not been told that the performance is 
 delayed until to-morrow?" 
 
 "We have not been so informed," 
 admitted Shakspere, "but I supposed 
 as much. What say you, Philip? 
 There is honor for you in this most 
 kind invitation, and better cheer than 
 you will find with us." 
 
 Thus addressed, Philip stepped for- 
 ward with an air of desperation. 
 
 "Pray say to his Lordship, the Earl 
 of Bedford, that I am little used to 
 gentle company, having only lately 
 left the Cathedral Choir to join the 
 players. I watched my Lord in the 
 lists to-day with great admiration, but 
 49 
 
 
 9
 
 such splendor affrights me. I should 
 not dare to approach the moon, nor one 
 of the stars nor his Lordship. 
 
 "Say further that if my performance 
 on the morrow merit a word of com- 
 mendation from my Lord, I shall 
 count it a great honor to be allowed " 
 here the boy blushed, and stam- 
 mered with a modesty that became him 
 well "to kiss his hand!" 
 
 The man withdrew, grinning and 
 flattered, and the group of actors sur- 
 veyed Philip with some show of pride. 
 
 "By my soul, you have a ready 
 tongue!" commented Burbage, ap- 
 provingly. "But why not follow the 
 example Will sets and win some good 
 of these gay folk? The fellow spoke 
 truly, you would have been well enter- 
 tained." 
 
 "Too well!" interrupted Shakspere. 
 "He would have been called upon to 
 spend half the night amusing his Lord- 
 ship ; and we should have found him fit 
 50
 
 LONDON 
 
 for nothing but his bed on the mor- 
 row." 
 
 "Ah, too true ! You speak from bit- 
 ter experience," said Richard Burbage, 
 tauntingly. 
 
 Shakspere joined in the laugh that 
 followed. 
 
 "I speak not of my patron," he re- 
 torted, "but of his imitators!" 
 
 The bugles now sounded the close 
 of the tournament, and the Court ad- 
 journed from the tilt yard to prepare 
 for the banqueting hall. Queen Eliz- 
 abeth's maids were divided as to who 
 had carried off the honors of the day, 
 and the merits of the different contest- 
 ants were long discussed. I think we 
 may accept the judgments of Mistress 
 Vernon and of Master Shakspere in 
 favor of Southampton. They might 
 have been biased by their affections, 
 but the poet, George Peele, who de- 
 scribed the tournament in blank verse, 
 gives the same verdict in favor of the 
 51
 
 PLAYERS 
 O' LONDON 
 
 Earl, "so valiant in arms gentle and 
 debonair." 
 
 The actors continued their discussion 
 as they followed the gay multitude 
 back to the Palace. 
 
 "I," said Philip, "have not the slight- 
 est notion of staying in this palace over 
 night. The play should have come off 
 at three o'clock. It is now sundown, 
 and where is any sign that we are 
 needed here ? My good sister will think 
 me dead, an I fail to come home. So 
 I must go, sirs, and will return to-mor- 
 row in better spirits than to-day." 
 
 "Indeed!" spoke up Richard Bur- 
 bage. "Methinks I see you skipping 
 gaily home to be caught like a little 
 mouse in some trap prepared by our 
 friends of The Curtain! And as for 
 being in better spirits, that is assured. 
 There is no stinting the liquor for 
 Lord Hunsdon's men. We are due 
 to have a fine feast to-night, eh, Mas- 
 ter Will?" 
 
 52
 
 "What odds to him?" interrupted 
 Sly. "He goes to his lover, Lord 
 Southampton. We shall see nothing 
 more of him." 
 
 "And I am invited to pass my time 
 with some ladies, so a happy evening is 
 assured to me," confided Burbage. 
 
 Philip spoke again in a sharp, con- 
 strained tone: "I have said, good 
 friends, I spend the night at home." 
 He looked around with an air of con- 
 fidence that faded away under the 
 amused, contemptuous glances of his 
 fellows. 
 
 "The child has said," mimicked Sly, 
 "'he spends the night at home!'" A 
 spot of color glowed in each pale cheek 
 as the boy opened his mouth to speak, 
 but a shout of laughter drowned his 
 words. 
 
 "Enough of folly!" cried Will 
 
 Shakspere, angrily. "The boy's fever 
 
 is coming on again. Leave him to me ! 
 
 I will guard him safely through the 
 
 53
 
 night. Pray, how could he sleep in 
 such a company? There's not a man 
 of you but wakes the midnight with his 
 snores !" 
 
 "Fever does grow worse at night," 
 admitted Burbage, "but I promised 
 fair Phyllis to keep him in sight. If 
 you carry him off, who will absolve 
 me?" 
 
 "I will!" put in Philip eagerly, hold- 
 ing out his hand to Will, who tucked 
 it under his arm. Then the two 
 whisked out of sight before their com- 
 rades could say them nay. 
 
 a
 
 VI 
 
 In which Shakspere plays Mentor 
 
 HROUGH long corri- 
 dors, up several flights of 
 stairs and down other flights, 
 Shakspere led his companion, 
 finally entering a suite of 
 apartments beautiful be- 
 yond his little friend's imaginings. As 
 
 '<0entle tf>cm art, anU therefore to be toon; 
 
 iSrauteoue tbou art, therefore to aBsailrt." 
 
 Sonnet XLI.
 
 one at home and long familiar with 
 such luxurious surroundings, he select- 
 ed a low couch and bade the boy rest 
 there. Disappearing then for a few 
 minutes, he returned mysteriously with 
 a bowl of excellent gruel, which he con- 
 fessed to having stolen from a maid on 
 the way to her mistress. 
 
 "Now, Philip, when you have drunk 
 this, it will be time for your confes- 
 sions !" he said, dropping his gay, care- 
 less manner and looking full at his 
 companion. The brown eyes quailed 
 before the searching glance of the blue 
 ones. Tenderly, anxiously, the older 
 man regarded the younger. 
 
 "Philip, you are not the lad I knew 
 a month ago. No fever of a few hours 
 has so changed you. Look, child ! I see 
 a troubled mind behind those eyes !" 
 
 "No, no!" Philip protested; but his 
 face flushed guiltily enough. 
 
 "Confess, you have done something 
 56 

 
 of which you are ashamed! 
 distressed!" 
 
 Philip shook his head, but the other 
 continued : 
 
 "I read you like an open page. Seek 
 not to deceive me! You have cast my 
 counsels to the winds. Some woman 
 is concerned in this matter, some one 
 twice your years, of course, and en- 
 vious of your beauty and your youth. 
 Now, love, I know the very lady! I 
 knew when she sent for you after last 
 week's rehearsal at The Rose." 
 
 Philip, who was shaking convulsive- 
 ly, now sat up, rosy, merry, and laugh- 
 ing peals of silver laughter that rip- 
 pled and echoed afar. 
 
 "Hush, rascal!" exclaimed Shak- 
 spere, holding up a warning finger. 
 "Remember where you are! What 
 would passers-by in the corridor think? 
 And the Earl is not even holding an in- 
 nocent carousal! It is easy for you to 
 57
 
 fcK PIAVCRS 
 O CONDON 
 
 laugh, but I feel little like it. Tell me, 
 are you betrothed?" 
 
 "Well, I hardly know," answered 
 Philip dubiously, with lurking mis- 
 chief in his eyes. 
 
 "To whom?" exclaimed his inquis- 
 itor shortly. 
 
 Philip began to show signs of con- 
 fusion. 
 
 "I cannot very well explain, 
 but 
 
 "Come, come, sir! I grow impa- 
 tient." 
 
 Perhaps Philip feared that the truth 
 would be shaken out of him, for he 
 answered seriously: 
 
 "To one older than I, as you have 
 said; a Puritan, not beautiful, and vio- 
 lently opposed to the players." 
 
 "Now God forbid! That is far 
 worse than I thought! You must be 
 jesting; you would not dare to tell me 
 this, after such pains as I have taken 
 with you! Why, boy, you are not 
 58
 
 O'LONbON 
 
 twenty yet! I have planned that we 
 should work together for years, and 
 that I should draw real inspiration 
 from you! Oh, what a time youth is! 
 With the long future before us, we lay 
 up enough of misery to last us the rest 
 of our lives." 
 
 Philip was by this time somewhat 
 disconcerted, and welcomed with re- 
 lief the sound of an opening door. 
 
 The Earl of Southampton entered 
 at the farthest end of the room. He 
 was attired elaborately and yet with 
 faultless taste. His doublet was of 
 pale blue velvet, his knee breeches were 
 of white satin, and his leather chest- 
 piece was richly embroidered in silver. 
 Further decorations consisted of a 
 broad lace collar, an embroidered 
 sword-belt, and garters trimmed with 
 gold thread and silk bows. But noth- 
 ing in his raiment was so astonishing as 
 the thick red gold curls that hung in 
 symmetrical profusion about his shoul- 
 59
 
 
 \\ 
 
 ders. His face was intelligent and af- 
 fable, lovable in fact. 
 
 At sight of him, Shakspere sprang 
 up joyfully. 
 
 "Two loves have I, of comfort and 
 despair!" he exclaimed. "Come, you, 
 my good angel, help me to decide 
 whether this other be good or bad. 
 You have seen him before, and as one 
 unprejudiced by affection shall judge 
 him." 
 
 "Why is not this the Lady Juliet, 
 though not now in her right attire? 
 Who speaks of bad angels in such fair 
 company?" 
 
 "I know not who would be so bold 
 save Master Shakspere," said Philip, 
 looking in unconcealed admiration at 
 the Earl, who in turn surveyed him 
 from head to foot, with an amused 
 smile. 
 
 "Master Condell is here at some risk 
 of offending my Lord of Bedford. 
 60
 
 o'lxxrsflDorsr 
 
 My Lord sought him as a guest for the 
 night," Shakspere informed the Earl. 
 
 "Ah, Shakspere, reader of men, your 
 words must have slipped out, all un- 
 consciously. You do not need to play 
 upon me or to flatter my vanity. 
 Your friends are mine, and as your 
 friends I welcome them. I refuse to 
 take any satisfaction in piquing Bed- 
 ford." Here he laughed with a 
 heartiness that belied his words. 
 
 Philip's eyes had been fixed upon 
 Southampton's hair, and now with a 
 curiosity he could no longer restrain, 
 he reached forward and touched one of 
 the smooth, glossy curls that lay like a 
 roll of burnished copper. 
 
 "Oh, forgive me, my Lord," he ex- 
 claimed, "but are they really yours?" 
 
 "Are these your Court manners?" 
 asked the Earl, good-naturedly. "Be- 
 ware of asking a like question at sight 
 of the Queen's periwig." 
 
 "But of this gold we may speak 
 61 
 
 I
 
 freely," said Shakspere. "The metal 
 rings true ! That is, if I wring a lock, 
 my Lord will cry out. Yet this is not 
 a topic that befits conversation, being 
 better left to the field of verse. How- 
 ever, my Lord, I know that Philip is 
 glad of anything that keeps me from 
 the real subject at hand. I wish hinj 
 to talk of himself." 
 
 Again Southampton's eyes twin- 
 kled. "O ho ! And what has that way- 
 ward elf been doing?" 
 
 "Enough !" answered Shakspere dis- 
 consolately. "He is an example to 
 you, and you shall be one to him." 
 
 "He is just beginning to be a credit 
 to me. Oh, the pains I have taken 
 with the rascal! Did he not enter our 
 company straight from the Cathedral 
 Choir without the slightest knowledge 
 of our art, beyond what can be gained 
 in ranting the part of Noah's Wyfie in 
 the Miracle Plays? And now, after all 
 my laboring for him and belaboring of 
 62 
 
 -
 
 him, just as he is beginning to show 
 real talent, I learn that he has yoked 
 himself to a Puritan spinster twice his 
 age! 
 
 "Heard you ever such madness, my 
 Lord of Southampton? No! for it is 
 only equaled by your own! You, who 
 are a stately tree and in whom rests the 
 future of your race, refuse to see the 
 duty you owe to yourself and to the 
 mother who bore you." 
 
 "Shake us together, and we shall 
 prove a perfect pair, Will," laughed 
 the Earl. 
 
 "No, that is not what I purpose. I 
 have a commission to put your f ailings 
 into rhyme." 
 
 "Spare me, dear poet! Riding has 
 made my eyes heavy with sleep. I 
 envy you, who can to bed when you 
 choose, while I must tread a measure 
 in the dance. I shall return ready to 
 die of fatigue; and faith! I have no 
 wish to find you wide-eyed and lost in 
 63
 
 O LONDON 
 
 verse. Prepare me no discourses, an 
 you love me!" 
 
 "Come, let us eat! A little supper is 
 laid in the adjoining chamber, and I 
 must snatch at something, for I sup 
 with the Queen in a half hour's time, 
 and I never willingly go hungry to a 
 dinner of state." 
 
 "My Lord keeps his tongue to serve 
 his brains and not his stomach," com- 
 mented Shakspere, approvingly. "A 
 dinner with her Majesty is a good time 
 to listen and to talk. The man who 
 forgets himself and stops to eat wastes 
 a good opportunity." 
 
 "Will does me more than justice, 
 as usual," said the Earl to Philip. 
 "The real truth is that the waits are in- 
 terminably long, and I become raven- 
 ous. Sometimes, the Queen keeps us 
 an hour by deciding to change her 
 dress again at the last moment. I 
 have no wish to die of starvation before 
 64
 
 PLAYERS 
 O' LONDON 
 
 'the future of my line' is provided for, 
 so I go fortified." 
 
 He led them into the anteroom 
 where a small table was invitingly 
 spread. What a merry repast fol- 
 lowed ! Philip, as an invalid, received 
 only the choicest morsels. He was al- 
 lowed to eat but the breast and liver of 
 his bird, though its fat little drum- 
 sticks were a temptation hard to re- 
 sist. Devonshire cream and rennet 
 custards were forced upon him, but the 
 pasties and tarts were kept well out of 
 his reach. 
 
 Shakspere was delighted to find that 
 his little favorite was not uncongenial 
 to his young patron. Indeed, Philip 
 lent a strange charm to the occasion, 
 which both of the others realized but 
 could not define. It was a pleasure to 
 watch the play of his features, where 
 emotions sought to express rather than 
 to conceal their existence. His grace- 
 ful movements had a fascination all 
 65
 
 if ON DOTS 
 
 their own. His enjoyment was evi- 
 dent, as was also an occasional timidity 
 or embarrassment that bordered on 
 fear. 
 
 From time to time, he raised his eyes 
 with an expression of wonder at being 
 where he was. 
 
 "I refused to visit the moon or one 
 of the stars at Lord Bedford's re- 
 quest," he said, "and you, Will Shak- 
 spere, have brought me straight to the 
 sun, and I am not burned though a 
 little bit afraid." 
 
 66 

 
 VII 
 
 In which a woman is discovered 
 
 ORD SOUTHAMP- 
 
 TON left hurriedly in 
 reply to his valet's announce- 
 ment that the procession was 
 'forming for the dining hall. 
 Shakspere and Philip had 
 places provided for them with Lord 
 
 are pan 
 
 te pottr BttbatatueeT 
 mate, 
 
 milliona of strange s&afcotos an pott tcnfc? 
 
 Sonnet L1II. 

 
 Hunsdon's retinue, but they were glad 
 to forego a long, tiresome, formal meal 
 where they would be among the least. 
 For gifted as were the Lord Chamber- 
 lain's Players talented, handsome 
 men all of them they were of a calling 
 deemed so low that, even in its success- 
 ful practice, there was little cause for 
 pride; but they were serving as the 
 mirror of their times, and not for long 
 could Lords and Ladies despise their 
 own likenesses. 
 
 "Philip," said Shakspere, when they 
 were alone, "do you wish to go over 
 your part again?" 
 
 Philip looked up in dismay. 
 
 "Are you not satisfied with me?" he 
 exclaimed. "Must I do better than I 
 did? Was there any fault in the 
 lines?" 
 
 "No, no! But can you do as well to- 
 morrow?" 
 
 "Why not, if I go home and sleep 
 68
 
 OT 
 
 and am stronger to-morrow than 
 to-day?" 
 
 "Go home! Why speak of that? 
 You are invited here for the night." 
 
 "Now this is a mistake!" cried 
 Philip, springing up, angrily. 
 
 "I came here freely, and will as free- 
 ly return to-morrow; but stay here I 
 shall not!" 
 
 "Came here freely? Why, you were 
 carried here locked in a chair!" 
 
 "Burbage promised my sister!" 
 cried Philip, desperately. 
 
 "What did he promise her? To take 
 good care of you, but surely not to let 
 you run the streets by night ! Such a 
 mad boy as you are! Have you never 
 slept a night away from home?" 
 
 "No," answered Philip, "and I will 
 not now." So saying he made a dash 
 for the door, and was in the corridor 
 before Shakspere realized what he was 
 about. 
 
 Ah, but Whitehall was a labyrinth! 
 69 

 
 O' LONDON 
 
 Shakspere paused to listen to the di- 
 rection of the fleeing steps, then he 
 tripped noiselessly and deliberately 
 after, first in the direction of the dining 
 hall. But Philip would not follow 
 such a lead long; no, he would fear to 
 encounter some guest returning from 
 the feast. Shakspere came to a dimly 
 lighted hallway. There were stairs 
 just beyond. At the foot lay some- 
 thing, someone, all in a heap! Philip 
 well punished! He had missed his 
 footing! 
 
 Shakspere stooped and lifted him in 
 his arms. 
 
 "Naughty boy," he said, "what use 
 in trying to run away? We are all 
 shut up in the same trap for a few 
 days, courtiers, servants, slaves and 
 mice. Have a good time in the trap. 
 It's not a bad place so long as no one 
 is trying to kill you." 
 
 For all answer, the slender creature 
 in his arms began to sob bitterly. The 
 70 
 
 2
 
 fcft "PLAVCRS 
 O LONDON 
 
 face that rested on his shoulder and 
 touched his cheek as he mounted the 
 steps, was soft as a damask rose; and 
 from the dark tresses came the per- 
 fume that is only of violets or of a 
 woman's hair. 
 
 Shakspere knew that he carried a 
 woman in his arms. It was the Philip 
 he was seeking, but it was not the 
 Philip of a month ago. For a mo- 
 ment, he was mystified, then the simple 
 explanation flashed through his mind: 
 Philip was dangerously ill. Rather 
 than allow him to be disturbed and ex- 
 cited by the players, Phyllis, his twin 
 sister, had taken his place, expecting 
 to accomplish his appointed task in the 
 course of the day. Now, confused 
 and bewildered at the turn of affairs, 
 she was utterly at a loss and lay weep- 
 ing, helpless and hopeless. 
 
 A wave of pity and tenderness 
 swept over the man, but this was 
 speedily followed by wonder and ad- 
 71 
 
 I!:) 
 
 V
 
 O CONDON 
 
 miration at the intelligence with which 
 she had played not only her brother's 
 part, but the part of her brother. 
 Shakspere's mind embraced all the 
 possible outcomes of the situation with 
 the quickness that was characteristic 
 of him. If he should help her to leave 
 the Palace, her whole escapade would 
 be discovered. If he should insist on 
 her carrying out her intention, and 
 force her to remain Philip to the end, 
 perhaps no one would be the wiser ; and 
 his play ! After all, what was of more 
 importance than his play? She must, 
 on no account, be allowed to escape. 
 He was sorry for her, but she must 
 accomplish her undertaking. She 
 was now one of the players, a puppet 
 on which much depended. 
 
 As he looked down at her, the closed 
 eyelids quivered, then opened wide. 
 
 "Don't you understand?" she said, 
 tremulously. "I cannot stay here." 
 
 He veiled the kindness that might 
 72
 
 unnerve her. A word of sympathy 
 never stops a woman's tears; it opens 
 the floodgates. 
 
 "I understand that any wilfulness 
 on your part would disgrace us all!" 
 he said. His mind was made up: he 
 had decided not to acknowledge his 
 discovery. 
 
 But Phyllis had caught that first 
 glance of surprise, and she knew that 
 he had guessed her secret. 
 
 Once more they entered South- 
 ampton's apartments. Phyllis slipped 
 to her feet, but Shakspere kept one of 
 her hands firmly grasped in his, as 
 though fearing she would again try 
 to escape. 
 
 "Now, Philip," he said, drawing her 
 to a door at the right of the one by 
 which they had entered, "here is the 
 wardrobe where my Lord's garments 
 hang: this little room has but one door, 
 which, I promise you, shall not be dis- 
 turbed. Get you in here and sleep. 
 73 
 

 
 
 See! I shall make a good bed for 
 you," and he brought robes and cush- 
 ions from one of the couches. 
 
 "Now rest in peace," he said. "No 
 one shall enter. You are as safe as in 
 your chamber at home, and I am your 
 guard." 
 
 "Wait! wait a moment!" cried Phyl- 
 lis, faintly. "I ought not to have 
 come." 
 
 "You did well to come," said Shak- 
 spere, decidedly, "if you act well to- 
 morrow. You are a part of Art now, 
 Philip ; we marveled at you to-day, and 
 yet my brightest dream is of a time 
 when women shall join us in our work. 
 The day may be not far off. I be- 
 lieve it has dawned already in France, 
 where ladies are more daring than 
 here." 
 
 He spoke kindly, reassuringly. 
 There was much comfort for Phyllis 
 in his words. 
 
 Then, just as he would have done 
 74
 
 to Philip, he kissed his little friend 
 good-night; and the matter-of-fact 
 manner of his kiss made her wonder 
 whether he really knew her, after all. 
 
 75
 
 VIII 
 
 In which friends discuss private 
 affairs 
 
 HAKSPERE stepped 
 from the wardrobe and 
 carefully closed the door. 
 Then he pulled a couch in 
 front of it, and seating him- 
 self comfortably, prepared in 
 
 is too pattng to knoto aljat conscience 
 
 to 
 
 Sonnet CLI.
 
 a businesslike way to carry out his 
 commission from the Countess of 
 Southampton. 
 
 But his thoughts of his "dear Lord," 
 "his patron," "his lover," did not flow 
 with their wonted freedom. They 
 were interrupted by visions of the dark 
 lady who lay sleeping so near. The 
 red-gold curls that had been the sun of 
 his poetry were dimmed in the shadow 
 of soft black tresses. The mystery 
 concerning Philip had taken hold of 
 his mind, the Philip of his last kiss, 
 more beautiful than the sons of men. 
 
 "What is your substance, whereof 
 are you made," he mused, "that mill- 
 ions of vague shadows on you tend?" 
 
 Strange words to address to a well- 
 known friend ! He was writing to the 
 Earl, but he was thinking of Phyllis. 
 
 "Come, come!" he exclaimed, with 
 
 an indignant shake of his head, "this 
 
 is no love sonnet ! It has nought to do 
 
 with shadows ! I must berate the Earl 
 
 77
 
 JL 
 
 O'LyONDON 
 
 for his failure to make a suitable mar- 
 riage. I must find subtile and con- 
 vincing arguments, and they must be 
 pleasing as well. And if it be Phyllis 
 who is sleeping yonder, she is Philip's 
 sister and nothing to me!" 
 
 Concentrating his mind on the mat- 
 ter that had been, for many months, 
 an important topic on all tongues at 
 Court, he wrote the first lines of the 
 sonnet that the Earl's mother had 
 commanded, 
 
 "From fairest creatures, we desire in- 
 crease 
 
 That thereby beauty's rose may never 
 die." 
 
 The lines pleased him. They were 
 flattering and instructive. The rest of 
 the sonnet was ready in his mind and 
 would have been speedily transcribed 
 to the page, but the very slightest of 
 raps on the door caught his ear. He 
 78 

 
 raised his head and listened for a mo- 
 ment. The sound was repeated more 
 courageously. He hastened to the 
 door, and opened it. 
 
 Elizabeth Vernon in full court dress 
 entered. Without the slightest effort 
 to hide her eagerness and anxiety, she 
 glanced about the room. She hardly 
 seemed to notice Shakspere. Her 
 eyes scanned each corner and finally 
 rested on the closet door. There was 
 a desperate look on her beautiful face. 
 
 For Shakspere, the situation was 
 most embarrassing. For his own 
 sake, for Southampton's sake for the 
 sake of the little player, the lady must 
 be got away and quietly. And so it 
 was for her own sake that he made a 
 plea. 
 
 "My Lady I entreat you tell me 
 how I may be of service to you!" 
 There was no answer. 
 
 "Lady Betty Do consider that 
 79
 
 you imperil your reputation by re- 
 maining here with me!" 
 
 "My reputation!" she burst out bit- 
 terly "I have none! I lost it here 
 weeks ago! Where else shall I go to 
 seek it?" 
 
 There was a moment's pause. 
 
 "The Earl is not here," said Shak- 
 spere. 
 
 "No, but who is here?" exclaimed 
 the lady in a frenzy of jealousy. 
 "Who is here? I heard a woman's 
 voice as I passed on my way to the 
 banquet. I did not need to feign ill- 
 ness I was so much affected that her 
 Majesty took pity on my condition 
 and excused me from further attend- 
 ance." 
 
 "Mistress Vernon, I am happy to be 
 able to relieve your mind entirely! You 
 have mistaken a player for a possible 
 rival! Young Condell is here; it was 
 his voice that you heard." 
 
 "I do not believe you, Shakspere! I 
 80
 
 heard the voice of a woman of a 
 young girl!" 
 
 "Oh, you do his Lordship cruel in- 
 justice!" exclaimed Shakspere, indig- 
 nantly. 
 
 "You are all against me!" cried the 
 lady. "You are against me, with the 
 rest. All against me because I trust 
 him because I love him! Jealous? 
 Who is jealous? I? No! The Queen 
 is jealous! His mother is jealous! You 
 are jealous! I do not need to be jeal- 
 ous while I have his love but can I 
 hold it in the face of all the plotting 
 and planning that is going on to de- 
 prive me of it? I am not allowed to 
 have a word with him! Not even a 
 chance to defend myself against the 
 lies they pour into his ears! God 
 knows no other man has ever found 
 me kind!" 
 
 "I know nothing of these matters," 
 protested the poet. "I can only pray 
 you to withdraw." 
 81 

 
 "Not until you promise not to join 
 the league against me !" She turned to 
 him with animation and hope. "Prom- 
 ise me not to help them! They are 
 planning to turn his interest elsewhere ! 
 Even Essex, my cousin, will do noth- 
 ing for me, fearing to lose what influ- 
 ence he has. What chance have I 
 against them all one woman rich in 
 his love without it, oh, how poor!" 
 Her eyes filled with tears. 
 
 "Be assured that I, who love your 
 lover, will never join a conspiracy 
 against his happiness which is you!" 
 He opened the door, but the lady 
 caught his hand and held it while she 
 exclaimed : 
 
 "If you have the feelings of a man 
 9$ well as the mind of a poet, I pray 
 you never to forget that kind prom- 
 ise and know that you have one 
 friend who will never prove ungrateful 
 for your kindness in this time of grief 
 for, oh, I am in deep distress they
 
 talk of sending the Earl to Spain 
 with Essex." 
 
 "What little power I have shall be 
 used to keep my Lord at home." 
 
 "God grant it!" The lady withdrew 
 reluctantly, and the poet, giving a sigh 
 of relief, returned to his interrupted 
 sonnet. But ever and anon his eyes 
 roved to the closet door, and once he 
 muttered aloud : "Thank heaven !" 
 
 The verses were ready for the Earl 
 some time before his return. Shak- 
 spere was anxious to prevent any ref- 
 erence to the companion left with him, 
 for he knew that, under such peculiar 
 circumstances, it would be impossible 
 for the Earl to consider the situation 
 with due seriousness. And so well ac- 
 quainted was the young Lord with all 
 the charms of the opposite sex that 
 Shakspere knew that disguise would 
 not long be successful. 
 
 Perhaps even now his Lordship had 
 penetrated the secret! But the night 
 83 

 
 LONDON 
 
 was wearing on, and the morrow could 
 not come too soon. 
 
 The Earl entered shortly after mid- 
 night. He was in a royal good hu- 
 mor; his eyes were dancing, his 
 cheeks flushed; but his words belied his 
 looks. 
 
 "Dear Will," he exclaimed, "how 
 the hours have dragged!" 
 
 "Not where you have been," retort- 
 ed Shakspere. "Nor have they 
 dragged here ; for you have been in my 
 heart, its own dear company." 
 
 "You give me good proof, indeed!" 
 said the Earl, putting out his hand for 
 the lines Shakspere held toward him. 
 
 "But no! Read them to me your- 
 self, my friend, that I may know 
 whether or not you mean every word." 
 
 "That will be hard to tell," mused 
 Shakspere. 
 
 "I write them at your mother's re- 
 quest; I mean them for you; but sel- 
 fishly, dreading to lose you, I hope 
 84 

 
 against this good advice for my own 
 sake." 
 
 "But is it not agreed between us that 
 your muse shall not be forced? Why 
 write to me 'at request' ?" 
 
 "My muse never needs forcing! 
 Rather I hold her in check. Were she 
 given free rein, she would run you to 
 death, and you would be weary of her 
 and of me." 
 
 "Who knows better than you the 
 value of your verse? You fear that my 
 attempts to pay you will bankrupt me! 
 You believe in your 'immortal rhyme,' 
 but you resent making it in any way 
 common." 
 
 "Common I, a jester for the 
 crowd? How can I be else than com- 
 mon? Yet, beloved friend, you know 
 that there are depths in my heart, 
 which are not for the multitude to find. 
 Hid safe within lies my best self 
 yourself, my Lord, who have freed me 
 from the bondage of poverty, and 
 85
 
 given my soul breadth 
 enough for song." 
 
 "What a delight it has been to me!" 
 responded Southampton. 
 
 "Tell me, will your father have 
 much difficulty in recovering Asbies?" 
 They were referring to the beautiful 
 old home of Shakspere's mother, which 
 had been mortgaged and estranged 
 from the family for many years. It 
 was about to become the property of 
 the creditors, when Shakspere came to 
 his father's relief with a round sum 
 near two thousand pounds a wonder- 
 ful amount of money for an actor in 
 those days. The gift had been 
 pressed upon him after his dedication 
 of Venus and Adonis to the Earl of 
 Southampton. The exuberant grati- 
 tude of Fortune's young favorite was 
 not to be denied ; and, indeed, the Earl 
 made an ideal patron and donor. 
 
 "There will be no difficulty, because 
 we have now sufficient means to avoid 
 86 

 
 difficulty. The title is not clear, but 
 silver pounds will straighten it out," 
 Shakspere replied. 
 
 "But, my Lord, we are straying 
 from the point. My sonnet here is 
 inspired by your failings, not by your 
 virtues. See here is no truckling!" 
 
 He read the sonnet to Southampton, 
 who listened with rapt attention. He 
 enjoyed the lines keenly. He was 
 flattered, and at the same time touched, 
 by the delicate argument. When the 
 reading ceased, he turned his eyes upon 
 his friend with a delicious, dreamy 
 gaze. 
 
 "A duty, yes ! A pleasure for those 
 who could take it lightly. But I, with 
 a heart so tender that it abides not 
 woman's tears, to me the bondage 
 seems alarming. To give up all wom- 
 en for one ! Now I have my choice. 
 The whole field lies open, and I sip 
 the sweets where I will. But who 
 would think of shutting up a roving 
 87
 
 honey-bee with one clover blossom for 
 the rest of his days?" 
 
 "The husbands of our time are al- 
 lowed much liberty," remarked Shak- 
 spere. 
 
 Southampton gave him a mischiev- 
 ous glance. 
 
 "There are few wives like Mistress 
 Anne," he said. "Most often, the 
 wives who allow their husbands liberty 
 claim it themselves; and that I would 
 never endure." He thought for a few 
 moments in silence, and then sprang 
 up with boyish frankness. 
 
 "Truth to tell, I have already fallen 
 in love, Will! That prevents any pos- 
 sible consideration of marriage." 
 
 "Pray, why?" 
 
 "Surely none could advise me to be 
 so base as to marry one woman while 
 every thought is of another!" 
 
 "God forbid! But why not marry 
 'the other'?" 
 
 "Ah, if I only could! But no, I 

 
 
 should never get consent. And 
 though she is adorable, I have never 
 even thought of marriage with her." 
 
 "Then I have no doubt that you will 
 recover from this attack," said Shak- 
 spere, consolingly. 
 
 The Earl shook his head. 
 
 "I have no wish to recover. The 
 madness is too delightful." 
 
 "I see I shall have some trouble in 
 bringing you over to her Ladyship's 
 view," said the poet. "But now let us 
 to bed. The hour is late, and sleep 
 cures many ills."
 
 IX 
 
 In which Phyllis awakens betimes 
 
 HE wardrobe in which 
 >, Phyllis passed the night 
 was slightly lighted by a win- 
 dow that looked upon an in- 
 ner court. The gray dawn 
 crept through the casement, 
 lighting up a weird procession that 
 
 '&o is t&e time that keep* pott a* rap cbeet 
 r as the toarfcrobe mljicb tbc robe Uotb (jiue. 
 
 LJJ.
 
 stole into the girl's last dream. There, 
 hanging in a row against the wall like 
 a company of headless knights, were 
 the garments of his Lordship. 
 
 The rich costumes bespoke his taste 
 and spirit so plainly that a knowledge 
 of them was like a key to the character 
 of their owner. They were protected 
 from dust by a projecting shelf on 
 which the corresponding headgear was 
 arranged, helmets, Scotch bonnets, 
 periwigs, and large hats of the Cav- 
 alier with their wonderful plumes. On 
 the floor beneath, standing in mili- 
 tary precision, were shoes, boots, leg- 
 gings and high-heeled slippers. A 
 fortune was represented in the quan- 
 tity of gold and silver lace, buckles and 
 ornaments, yet here was only a small 
 part of the Earl's apparel. The clos- 
 ets of Hampton Court could show a 
 bigger display, though not more elab- 
 orate; for now all was of the finest, in 
 honor of the Queen. 
 91 

 
 O' LONDON 
 
 Phyllis opened her eyes, wondering 
 why the vision did not vanish; and as 
 the events of yesterday crowded in 
 upon her mind, she still waited for the 
 whole fantastic fabric of her adven- 
 tures to fade away, leaving her at home 
 again in the dull routine of a quiet 
 maiden's daily life. 
 
 But the light grew clearer, and my 
 Lord's apparel became more distinct 
 and splendid. Phyllis sat up with a 
 little exclamation of horror at her sit- 
 uation. Then she thought of Philip. 
 There was something infinitely consol- 
 ing in the thought of Philip. Only a 
 little more courage, and her work 
 would be done! She would soon be 
 at home with that dear brother. For 
 his sake, she must succeed. Was there 
 anything that she would not undertake 
 and accomplish for his sake? With a 
 brief prayer for his speedy recovery, 
 she arose and opened her door to peep 
 into the room beyond. 
 92 
 
 ei
 
 In front of her, on a couch lay Shak- 
 spere asleep. Phyllis held her breath 
 while she looked at him, but she 
 studied him well. His scarlet cloak 
 was spread over him, as though even in 
 sleep he was loth to resign all sign of 
 his calling. His face looked older 
 than when animated by the ever-chan- 
 ging play of feature that charmed one 
 in his conscious hours ; there were lines 
 on the forehead brought by care and 
 responsibility that had lain too heavily 
 on youthful shoulders. 
 
 She noticed with interest that his 
 hair and beard were cut after the man- 
 ner of Chaucer's portraits. 
 
 "He imitates his Master in his 
 looks," she said to herself, "but there 
 is no copying of his songs, I know!" 
 
 The sleeper is always in the place of 
 the child. Through the day, Phyllis 
 admired and feared this man, but now 
 there was something pathetic and wist- 
 ful in his face that went to her heart. 
 93 
 
 yyy 
 
 I
 
 IT 
 
 
 She thought him beautiful. Knowing 
 nothing of his past, she feared it had 
 been sad. 
 
 Slipping quietly by Shakspere, she 
 walked across the room toward where 
 Lord Southampton lay lost in the re- 
 cesses of an enormous canopied four- 
 poster. Phyllis did not know that the 
 curtained pile she approached was a 
 bed until the Earl pushed aside the 
 curtains and whispered a smiling good- 
 morning. 
 
 He was rosy and flushed with sleep, 
 his auburn curls somewhat disheveled, 
 and the more beautiful for their dis- 
 array. 
 
 He held out his hand to Phyllis, who 
 kissed it dutifully, blushing and some- 
 what confused. The Earl was pitiful 
 of such timidity, caused as he supposed 
 by awe of his rank, and he desired to 
 make the friend of his friend at ease. 
 
 "Perch yourself up here beside me, 
 Philip. No? Why 'no'? Is there 
 94
 
 anything fearful about me? Surely 
 not! My poet would have found me 
 out long ago, and he would then have 
 warned me !" 
 
 The Earl was watching her with 
 wide-eyed interest. 
 
 "Come, tell me about the Puritan!" 
 he went on. "My curiosity will not be 
 denied. Is Will really displeased 
 with you? or is he but acting as he does 
 in my case? For you must know that 
 he means not a word of what he says 
 to me. It would break his heart to 
 see me wedded." 
 
 Phyllis seated herself on the edge of 
 the bed, and Southampton, propped on 
 one elbow, waited to be amused. 
 
 "What is there amiss in a suitable 
 betrothal?" asked the little player. 
 
 "A suitable betrothal!" repeated the 
 Earl. "How excellent! And when 
 did you fall in love with the lady?" 
 
 "Fall in love? I know nothing of 
 95 
 
 "
 
 that. My guardian declares that he 
 has arranged a suitable and desirable 
 match. I shall begin to love when the 
 marriage takes place." 
 
 "Nonsense! Your eyes are full of 
 mischief. I warrant you, you know 
 some pretty girls of your own age who 
 would suit you better! Why, they 
 would have married me years ago! 
 But I have waited, and now I am in 
 love. Do you know the most beautiful 
 woman at Court? She has dark eyes 
 like yours! The Court admits no 
 beauty in a dark lady, but in our hearts 
 we know what beauty is." 
 
 "Yes, it lies deeper than speech," as- 
 sented Phyllis. "How glad you must 
 be that you have at last found the right 
 wife!" ' 
 
 "Alas! she may never be my wife. 
 
 The Queen is very watchful of her 
 
 maids. No one of them can marry 
 
 without her consent. And I, I am a 
 
 96 

 
 O'LrONDON 
 
 child of State. Do you know what 
 that means? Her Majesty stands in 
 place of father and guardian. She 
 would never allow the marriage." 
 
 Phyllis, deeply moved, reached out 
 her hand in sympathy; but the woe 
 that such a black prospect should have 
 caused a would-be husband, was not 
 evinced by his Lordship. He took the 
 little hand quickly enough, and sur- 
 veyed it with critical interest. When 
 she would have withdrawn it, he held 
 it firmly, and looked into her face with 
 assumed indignation. 
 
 "How dare you, one of the players, 
 show me a hand more slender than my 
 own, which is called like that of a 
 woman? Confess! Are you not the 
 veritable Lady Juliet? Eyes and hair 
 like night, the very ideal of the part 
 you play!" 
 
 Too much confused to answer, Phyl- 
 lis continued her efforts to get her hand 
 97 
 
 IT
 
 O' LONDON 
 
 away; but though the Earl's was as 
 fair as her own, it was strong as an 
 iron vise. 
 
 "A beautiful hand for a boy!" pur- 
 sued Southampton teasingly, "but 
 how very weak!" 
 
 "No, my Lord," exclaimed Phyllis, 
 "it is not beautiful nor weak, but yours 
 is over-strong! One who is victor in 
 the tournament ought to be more pow- 
 erful than a lad who plays woman's 
 parts." 
 
 At this moment, the two were con- 
 scious of other eyes. Shakspere had 
 awakened. The sight that greeted 
 him was not one to begin his day 
 auspiciously. There was the timid 
 girl whom he had been at such pains to 
 conceal, sitting familiarly beside the 
 very man from whom he most wished 
 to hide her. He glanced in wondering 
 indignation at Southampton. The 
 Earl was looking at the little player, 
 98 ' 

 
 without the slightest effort to conceal 
 his admiration. 
 
 Shakspere's love for Southampton 
 was of long standing. It was found- 
 ed on the strongest possible founda- 
 tion, that of benefits received and, con- 
 tinued. His anger turned entirely 
 against Phyllis, because it seemed as 
 though she must have deliberately 
 brought about this situation : either she 
 had told all, or his Lordship had known 
 all, without the need of being told. In 
 any case, she ought to have stayed 
 where she was put! 
 
 He was always master of himself, 
 so that now he sprang up with appar- 
 ent haste, exclaiming on the lateness of 
 the hour. "We must be off at once, 
 my Lord," he said, approaching 
 Southampton. That affectionate 
 young man, utterly unconscious of any 
 cause for ill-feeling, pulled Shakspere 
 down for a boisterous embrace ; seeing 
 which, Phyllis saved herself from fur- 
 99 

 
 o*ix>NDorsr 
 
 ther good-byes by hastening to the 
 door. 
 
 Shakspere followed in grave dis- 
 pleasure ; and silently, they made their 
 way through the Palace halls. 
 
 100
 
 In which actions and acting are dis- 
 cussed 
 
 HEN they reached the 
 theatre, the troupe of act- 
 ors had not yet bestirred 
 themselves, and the great 
 hall was deserted. 
 
 "Sit you here," said 
 
 life* ebe^ apple U0t& % beaut? fftoto, 
 t&p fiftoeet totrttte anstoer not t^p el)oto! 
 
 Sonnet XCIII.
 
 Shakspere, sternly, placing a chair 
 near the royal boxes on the stage. 
 "Sit here, and do you not leave the 
 stage on any account. Remember that 
 I am answerable for you." 
 
 The spirit of mischief entered Phyl- 
 lis at sight of the dignified, earnest 
 countenance of her hitherto sympa- 
 thetic friend. 
 
 "You have said I must act well to- 
 day," she answered, demurely. "Tell 
 me, how can I act the boy well, sitting 
 still on a chair?" 
 
 Even this clever turn, the poet was 
 not at a loss for a reply. Going 
 frankly to her, he exclaimed : 
 
 "Phyllis, you are too quick for me. 
 Let us play no parts to each other. Of 
 course, I know you! And my anxiety 
 for you is greater than your own, be- 
 cause I know so well what would re- 
 sult from discovery of you. 
 
 "There is not a man in the Palace 
 or in London Town who would believe 
 102
 
 in you, if he knew that you had come, 
 of your free will, into the company of 
 the players " 
 
 "There is one man," she exclaimed 
 with flaming cheeks and angry eyes, 
 "and for him I care more than for all 
 others in London, or in the world 1" 
 
 "There is one man," assented Shak- 
 spere, eagerly, "who blesses you for 
 coming the man whose art could 
 never have been realized without you." 
 
 "I speak of Philip, my brother." 
 
 "And I speak of myself." 
 
 "Of yourself? No, no! You are al- 
 ready suspicious and doubtful. You 
 are one of the players. Good women 
 exist for you only in your plays!" 
 
 "You have heard me say as much; 
 but hold it not against me, for I am 
 truly anxious to protect you. You 
 are inexperienced, young, emotional. 
 Who in his senses would permit you to 
 come under the influence of his Lord- 
 ship, the Earl of Southampton?" 
 103
 
 "Do you speak 
 friend?" 
 
 "I speak no ill of him friend, pa- 
 tron, my personal sovereign, if you 
 will. I speak no ill of him, but I de- 
 clare him irresistible. And he has 
 talked of love to you already!" 
 
 "My fault has been in selecting you 
 for a confidant!" exclaimed Phyllis, 
 suddenly. "I should have confessed 
 all to Burbage in the first place!" 
 
 "Oh, heavens, no! How have I 
 failed you? What could he have done 
 more? Is there anything you would 
 ask of me?" 
 
 "Yes! You have made me afraid 
 afraid of you and of your comrades. 
 I ask you to busy yourself elsewhere 
 and to leave me alone." 
 
 He looked at her, reproachfully. 
 
 "You show great discretion! I am 
 
 a man like the rest; but my dismissal 
 
 comes because I try to put you on your 
 
 guard because I want to see that no 
 
 104
 
 O' LONDON 
 
 harm befalls you because I desire 
 that no one shall know what I know!" 
 
 "You pretend to understand better 
 than I how to act my part, which is not 
 a little difficult! I need kindness and 
 help, and you berate me ! If I had held 
 back like a shy girl when my Lord 
 called me, he would have known me 
 for one. As it is, I am still Philip to 
 him, unless your strangeness and haste 
 have betrayed the secret." 
 
 "But, Phyllis," argued the man, 
 only half convinced, "he was talking of 
 your hair and hands and eyes!" 
 
 "Yes, they are uncommon for a 
 boy!" She opened the brown eyes wide 
 upon him. 
 
 Blue is the color of truth, and one 
 cannot find truth in a dark eye. 
 Shakspere gazed until his glance was 
 drowned in the limpid depths, but he 
 turned away, only half satisfied. He 
 felt that she was deliberately trying to 
 win back his approval, and he felt him- 
 
 105
 
 self yield, though unwillingly, to her 
 charm. Seeing him relent, she caught 
 his hand and cried: 
 
 "Let me be your Philip again! I 
 liked it better so. Forget who I real- 
 ly am!" 
 
 With an effort, he recovered his 
 usual sprightliness, and bade her help 
 him with the curtain, which was not 
 running smoothly. 
 
 The Palace began to wake up, and 
 the theatre was soon a busy place. 
 Tibalt and Mercutio tried a bout with 
 the rapiers to give them an appetite 
 for breakfast, and various other char- 
 acters in the play went over their 
 parts. 
 
 Phyllis climbed into the balcony to 
 assure herself that it was in order, and 
 from this point of vantage she saw 
 the Earl of Southampton enter the 
 door, accompanied by two others whom 
 she did not know John Florio, anx- 
 ious to know how fared the boy for 
 106
 
 whom his elixir had been prescribed; 
 and Essex, the Court favorite. They 
 sought out Shakspere and invited him 
 to breakfast with them; but he pleaded 
 much business as an excuse, and they 
 were forced to go without him. As 
 they withdrew, Essex whispered some 
 phrases apparently of a flattering na- 
 ture, for Shakspere's gesture indicated 
 a modest disclaimer, when he bade 
 them good-bye with the air of a courtly 
 host ; this was, in truth, his domain. 
 
 When they were gone, he looked up 
 at Phyllis, who was resting her arms 
 on the balcony. Southampton had 
 not even glanced at her. With a feel- 
 ing of relief, so intense that he did not 
 try to explain it, Shakspere decided 
 that the girl's secret was still hers and 
 his own. 
 
 At midday, after a late breakfast, 
 
 the Queen and her attendants entered 
 
 the hall that Lord Hunsdon had 
 
 fitted up for the royal theatre. 
 
 107
 
 Masques and plays were frequently 
 given here, but usually without any 
 great formality. Her Majesty's 
 moods changed so constantly that her 
 entertainers were often forced to plan 
 at short notice. To-day it was not so, 
 and more than ordinary efforts had 
 been made. The balcony needed no 
 label, and there was a brave attempt 
 at costuming. Lord Hunsdon felt 
 that his preparations were elaborate, 
 and he was ready to enjoy a triumph. 
 
 There was considerable excitement 
 among the members of the cast. The 
 only calm person was the author- 
 manager, on whom so much responsi- 
 bility rested. He seemed to be 
 everywhere, and had good need for all 
 his presence of mind; only his tact 
 assured the peaceful behavior of his 
 comrades whom idleness was beginning 
 to make boisterous. 
 
 The Mercutio had enjoyed an extra 
 quart of ale for his breakfast, and he 
 108 
 
 .re** 1 '- 
 
 1
 
 O^l/ONJDON 
 
 now grew wrathful at the necessity of 
 allowing Tibalt to overcome him with 
 the rapier. He had not realized be- 
 fore how mortifying it would be to let 
 these Lords and Ladies think he could 
 not parry such a simple thrust ! Shak- 
 spere took time to restore the come- 
 dian's good humor, explaining that 
 Mercutio's value lay in his merry dis- 
 position and clever tongue. Tibalt's 
 triumph was to be brief at best! He 
 was a surly fellow, and Romeo would 
 soon lay him low. 
 
 Burbage was superb he showed to 
 the best advantage when pleased with 
 the world and with himself, as he was 
 now. In an enthusiastic frame of 
 mind, he congratulated his Juliet on 
 her appearance. 
 
 "I feared you might be worse to- 
 day instead of better," he said, "but 
 Greene had no real wish to kill you! 
 Just to sicken you and put you out of 
 the way for a day: that would have 
 109
 
 O'L/ONDON 
 
 satisfied him. But fortune has fav- 
 ored us, and here you are, one of Lord 
 Hunsdon's men after all!" 
 
 "Philip," he added, suddenly, "I 
 have always wished I could play op- 
 posite a woman once, and now " 
 
 "Yes, what now?" 
 
 "Now I cannot imagine a woman's 
 making so sweet a Juliet as you do!" 
 
 "Perchance, my sister?" 
 
 "Oh, no, she is too discreet. She 
 would never allow herself to be tossed 
 by such mighty passions as we have 
 here." 
 
 Juliet's cheeks paled perceptibly, as 
 she turned aside to straighten the cap 
 of the nurse. Tom Sly took his part 
 well, but was temporarily overcome by 
 the difficulty of adjusting cap and 
 apron. 
 
 110 

 
 In which a woman is successful. 
 
 HERE was a sudden hush 
 in the hall. The Queen 
 was seated to her liking, and 
 she signaled for the play to 
 begin. * * * 
 
 What a wonderful per- 
 formance ! There were the first of the 
 
 &, sure 3f am, t&e totts of former Hap* 
 
 Co subjects merer fcafct stuen attmtrittff praise!" 
 
 Sonnet LIX. 

 
 O' LONDON 
 
 players of the time; there was the 
 greatest of authors; and there was as 
 august an audience as ever assembled! 
 And all were held breathless and spell- 
 bound by the power of a beautiful 
 actress. Phyllis had stepped beyond 
 the pale. For her, life could never 
 turn back to yesterday. She was the 
 ideal heroine of the world's romance, 
 playing before the Queen ; she was the 
 personification of his ideal, playing be- 
 fore the poet. 
 
 As one fascinated, the Earl of 
 Southampton watched her. He sat be- 
 side Lady Vernon, but his eyes never 
 left Phyllis for a moment while she was 
 on the stage. The Lords Bedford and 
 Essex were hardly less interested. In 
 the short intermission between the acts, 
 "that beautiful boy, Philip," was the 
 chief topic. But Philip Condell had 
 been talked of for some weeks with ad- 
 miration, and so strong was the resem- 
 blance between Phyllis and her brother 
 
 112
 
 that none thought of questioning the 
 identity. 
 
 It was evident from the first that the 
 play would be a success. Interest 
 never flagged, and the Queen forgot 
 to yawn. 
 
 Relieved in regard to his personal 
 fortunes, Shakspere had leisure to con- 
 sider the fortunes of others. The at- 
 tention Phyllis was attracting dis- 
 turbed him. To get her safely home 
 would be a problem. The affection he 
 felt for Philip lying sick added to his 
 anxiety. He had worldly wisdom 
 enough to know that Philip might not 
 regard this escapade as his sister did 
 in the light of a service for which he 
 should be grateful. Philip was a 
 youth of a sensitive and delicate tem- 
 perament. Phyllis seemed possessed 
 of more force and courage than he, and 
 Shakspere felt that the brother must 
 be spared all knowledge of what had 
 occurred. 
 
 113
 
 In consequence, now the poet was 
 in haste for the epilogue; and then 
 without waiting for congratulations, 
 he hoped to take his friend's dear sister 
 safely home. But this was not easy of 
 accomplishment. In the applause that 
 followed the end of the play, the chief 
 actors filed across the stage, each stop- 
 ping to bow to the Queen, who had now 
 and then a word to give them. 
 
 "As for you, Master Shakspere," 
 she said, in answer to his deferential 
 salutation, "I shall not forgive you the 
 tears we have shed over these tragic 
 lovers until you present yourself a year 
 hence with a comedy which shall make 
 Us forget tears in laughter. Mind 
 you, my old friend Falstaff must be 
 of the company!" 
 
 In this fashion came the commission 
 of Shakspere for the Merry Wives of 
 Windsor. 
 
 Burbage received an ovation. His 
 handsome figure and his passionate 
 114
 
 s 
 
 O'L-OrSTDON 
 
 acting invariably kindled enthusiasm; 
 and of Phyllis the Queen said audibly : 
 
 "He will never play the man half as 
 well as he does the maid." 
 
 When they passed off the stage, the 
 elder Burbage shook Shakspere's hand 
 warmly, and congratulated him on 
 their great success. 
 
 Meanwhile, the Earl of Bedford 
 came behind the curtain and engaged 
 Phyllis in conversation. He was ex- 
 actly Southampton's age and his boon 
 companion ; but in physical and mental 
 attributes, the two were very different. 
 Southampton was manly in spite of his 
 almost feminine beauty; while Bed- 
 ford, naturally vigorous, seemed 
 sapped of strength by the voluptuous 
 life of the Court. 
 
 "You must not plead fear as an ex- 
 cuse to get away from me now!" he 
 laughed. "I have a serious proposi- 
 tion to make to you." 
 
 "I shall be honored to listen, my 
 115 

 
 Lord, but pray allow me first to re- 
 move these awkward woman's trap- 
 pings," Phyllis answered readily; and 
 Shakspere admired the wit that 
 warned her to be rid of her robes. In 
 them, she was too alluring. 
 
 A few minutes later, her slim figure 
 showed the graceful page for some 
 lady's bower. This had been the 
 thought in Bedford's mind. He was 
 seeking an attendant for his young 
 wife, but he now decided that the boy 
 was too attractive for that post. 
 
 "I need a valet," he said. "It is a 
 position of honor near my person. I 
 offer it to you." 
 
 Shakspere clenched his fists in im- 
 potent rage, but Phyllis looked 
 amused and answered calmly : 
 
 "My Lord, my talents lie in such a 
 different direction! My unfitness must 
 be my excuse for refusing the honor 
 you offer me." 
 
 "But, boy, you are ambitious, surely! 
 116
 
 This is a great chance to rise in the 
 world. Do not take my words too 
 lightly. As to unfitness, practice will 
 overcome that. You are clever 
 enough. Think how fine it would be 
 for you to live in my household, clad 
 and fed as my retainers are." 
 
 "And should I have nothing to do 
 but dress and eat?" asked the boy, ap- 
 pearing to take an interest. 
 
 "Oh, a few light tasks," murmured 
 his Lordship. "I should let you shave 
 me, perhaps. You have nice, delicate 
 hands. I hate paws upon my face." 
 
 "Well, my Lord, I differ from you," 
 said Phyllis, rubbing her smooth 
 cheeks." I never trust a light hand to 
 shave me for fear of its dropping the 
 razor." 
 
 Bedford could but laugh at the frol- 
 icsome youth, it was so evident that his 
 face had never yet caused the barber 
 a moment's time. 
 
 "Truly," the boy proceeded, "at 
 117
 
 O' LONDON 
 
 sight of a spider, the razor would slip 
 from my hand. Whereas I can recite 
 the monologue of the mad Dane with- 
 out fear, even in the dark. 
 
 "Is it a dagger that I see before me? 
 No, no only a razor! 
 
 "My Lord, my Lord, you cannot un- 
 derstand! While you offer me an 
 honor, as undeserved as it is generous, 
 think, what I should have to renounce. 
 I may yet live to be a King upon the 
 stage." 
 
 Shakspere's eyes gleamed with ad- 
 miration and approval. This Phyllis, 
 she was wonderful! Philip would 
 never have answered so well. Such ef- 
 frontery, such charming impudence, 
 was unprecedented ! The Earl seemed 
 actually dazed. Recovering himself 
 with an effort, he renewed his insist- 
 ence. 
 
 "I shall not hold your words against 
 you, and I wish you so well that I am 
 118 
 
 "
 
 going to lend you my livery for a few 
 days." 
 
 At this, one of Bedford's attendants 
 stepped forward, and obeying a mo- 
 tion from his master, endeavored to 
 throw a green cloak over the little 
 player's shoulders. 
 
 Phyllis dodged him, and her face 
 flushed with anger. 
 
 "I will be frank with you, my 
 Lord," she said. "I have no wish to go 
 into service; but if I should do so, it 
 would be to Lord Southampton, with 
 whom I have talked already; in any 
 case, your offer comes too late." 
 
 The Earl's displeasure was so evi- 
 dent that Shakspere felt called upon 
 to allay it, if possible, lest it should in 
 some way react to injure his friends. 
 
 "Your Lordship forgets that we are 
 already in service to Lord Hunsdon, 
 and through him to her Majesty the 
 Queen. We are already bound." 
 
 "Only in name," exclaimed Bed- 
 119 

 
 
 ford testily, "only in name ! You carry 
 his license, that is all ! But some would 
 rather be vagabonds than trusted serv- 
 ants !" So saying, he walked off, angry 
 enough at the downfall of his scheme. 
 
 120 
 
 1
 
 XII 
 
 In which the players dine, and Phyllis 
 forgets a part 
 
 HYLLIS turned grate- 
 fully to Shakspere. 
 "Is he not dreadful!" she 
 exclaimed. "We must get 
 away from here! I feel as 
 though I should never reach 
 home again." 
 
 C>oto tan mp muse want subject to intent 
 H? bile tljoti fcoet treatbe, that pour'st into mp newe 
 (Tbme oton etueet arg;timent?" 
 
 Sonnet XXXVIII.
 
 The stimulus she had received from 
 Florio's draught had worn off with the 
 excitement of the play. It was now 
 near four o'clock of the afternoon, and 
 they had breakfasted early. 
 
 "You cannot take that long walk 
 now, without food let us join our 
 comrades at dinner," said Shakspere, 
 pitiful of her pale cheeks and tired 
 eyes. Phyllis assented, as much for 
 his sake as for her own. She was tired 
 and hungry, therefore he must be. 
 
 They joined the players at table, 
 but no sooner had they seated them- 
 selves than a servant who seemed to 
 have been waiting for them, slipped 
 a letter into Phyllis's hand. Her 
 watchful neighbor observed it and saw 
 also the rosy smile that seemed to 
 sweep over her whole face. 
 
 "Good Lord!" he exclaimed to him- 
 self, looking up and down the double 
 row of faces. "Is there a man here 
 who can help knowing that this is a 
 122
 
 woman?" To her, he 
 "What says your note?" 
 
 "That he is all impatience to see 
 me." 
 
 "And 'he' means "? 
 
 "Philip, of course!" 
 
 "Philip?" 
 
 "Who else? Oh, how I hate " 
 
 "Me?" 
 
 "No, your suspicions !" 
 
 "I have none!" But he doubted even 
 while he spoke. The dainty sheet was 
 not such as she would have received 
 from home. He was convinced that it 
 was from the Earl of Southampton. 
 Shakspere admired the Earl so great- 
 ly that he attributed his own feelings 
 to all who came in contact with his 
 bright particular star. He decided 
 now to hurry this troublesome charge 
 home as soon as might be. The very 
 atmosphere of Whitehall had a demor- 
 alizing effect upon women; and as he 
 123
 
 'LONDON 
 
 had introduced this one to Southamp- 
 ton, his responsibility was great. 
 
 He was musing thus, when Burbage 
 called to him from the end of the 
 board. 
 
 "Why so silent, Will? Is the 
 Queen's rebuke lying heavy on your 
 shoulders? Zounds, man, it was all 
 meant for praise!" 
 
 "It was praise," corrected Shak- 
 spere. 
 
 "Then why so glum?" 
 
 "Your recent death, Romeo, may 
 have oppressed me." 
 
 "Far less than it oppressed me! Life 
 might have been a very pleasant thing, 
 and you are responsible for the end, if 
 anyone be. But have you heard the 
 news?" 
 
 "There is news already? Of what?" 
 
 ''Why, of ourselves! What else in- 
 terests us? We shall be here another 
 while. Midsummer Night's Dream is 
 commanded for to-morrow. I call it 
 124 
 
 ir
 
 PLAYERS 
 O'LtONbON 
 
 rare good luck when we are all so well 
 practiced!" 
 
 "Not I!" exclaimed Phyllis, with 
 difficulty concealing her consternation. 
 
 "You did well enough a few weeks 
 ago," said Sly. 
 
 "But my thoughts have been on 
 Juliet since then," answered Phyllis. 
 "Helena is all but forgotten." 
 
 "Oh, peace, Philip!" cried Shak- 
 spere, in an agony lest her ignorance 
 should betray her. "If you have any 
 such fears, let us not wait longer here. 
 I call a rehearsal at once." 
 
 "No, no, no!" shouted a dozen voices 
 in protest. 
 
 Shakspere arose. 
 
 "Friends, be not over-hasty!" he 
 said. "You shall not be disturbed. I 
 have no will to make Philip so disliked. 
 But the cobwebs must be brushed from 
 his brain, for the fever has dimmed his 
 memory. Take our share of pudding 
 and ale in lieu of our company." 
 125
 
 "That will suit me well," asserted 
 Phyllis, rising hastily. 
 
 Shakspere took her hand, which 
 slipped into his with the warm, trustful 
 clasp of a child; and a sigh of relief es- 
 caped him as they passed out of the 
 hall that he well knew would soon be 
 a place of revelry too boisterous for 
 women's ears. 
 
 They went back to the scene of the 
 day's triumph. The theatre was de- 
 serted. They were alone. Where 
 was now the sister's eager haste to be 
 gone? Philip seemed to have sunk 
 into the past, and Phyllis stood look- 
 ing into Shakspere's eyes ; but neither 
 one could speak. The man was in tor- 
 ment, for he was in doubt. He found 
 himself unable to fathom his compan- 
 ion's motives or to surmise her inten- 
 tions. Did she mean to act Helena to- 
 morrow? or would she be glad to es- 
 cape from the players and from him 
 126 

 
 
 
 L 
 
 J 
 
 
 UMt/ >^ 
 
 m 
 
 and forget this episode? If she left 
 
 TO 
 
 them now, how could her sudden ab- 
 
 JESaEjm. 
 
 CK/5 
 
 ir 
 
 sence be explained ? To take her home 
 
 W 
 
 2 
 
 i 
 
 meant perhaps never to see her again. 
 
 1 
 
 . 
 
 
 
 That idea was not to be borne. On the 
 
 
 
 
 
 other hand and his heart tightened at 
 
 
 
 
 
 the thought she carried at this very 
 
 
 
 
 
 moment a letter from Southampton. 
 
 
 
 
 
 Bedford wanted to get hold of her. 
 
 
 
 
 
 She was at the world's mercy in a false 
 
 
 
 
 
 position, trapped in a series of fetes 
 
 
 
 
 
 that might be prolonged for a week. 
 
 
 
 
 
 To take her safely home that should 
 
 
 
 
 
 have been his one desire, and yet he 
 
 
 
 
 
 stood looking at her in silence while a 
 
 
 
 
 
 thousand questions made tumult in his 
 
 
 
 
 
 heart. The success for which he had 
 
 
 
 
 
 been striving was forgotten, or re- 
 
 
 
 
 
 mained only as a bright background 
 
 
 
 
 
 for this slender scarlet figure, who 
 
 
 
 
 
 seemed to centralize his dramatic 
 
 
 
 
 
 power in her person. Visions of the 
 
 
 
 
 * 
 
 future Rosalind, Portia and Viola, 
 
 : 
 
 - 
 
 
 127 
 
 
 
 
 i... ...i
 
 those bright heroines of masquerade, 
 flitted through his brain. He believed 
 that he should think and write of Phy^l- 
 lis for all time. 
 
 1S8
 
 XIII 
 
 Concerning a letter and a lover 
 
 N Phyllis's heart, another 
 
 tune was singing. 
 
 "I have pleased him, the 
 great poet! He is satisfied 
 with me, the wonderful man! 
 Why has Philip grieved that 
 
 "<&!), boto mud) mote Uotb bcautu brantcotts crrm 
 Bp tbat stoeet ornament tulncb trutl) Uotb trtuc ." 
 
 Sonnet LIV.
 
 I was a woman? I can act as well as 
 he, and I am more beautiful." 
 
 The approval of the Court could not 
 appeal to her, for it was given to a boy ; 
 but this leader of the players knew her, 
 and she felt strangely elated by his ad- 
 miration. Moreover, there was the re- 
 action from the despair of the last few 
 days, for without Philip's earnings, 
 sickness was terrible to face; and now 
 he need not want for anything. Sud- 
 denly reproaching herself that though 
 only in thought she had been unfaith- 
 ful to him for a moment, she ex- 
 claimed : 
 
 "Oh, take me back! My poor sick 
 boy! How much he has done for me! 
 And now at last I have been able to 
 serve him. How often he has said, 
 * Sister, do not despise me for the com- 
 pany I keep ! My work is honest work, 
 and the wage I earn comes home to 
 thee.' Now what I earn shall go home 
 130 
 
 S 
 
 V
 
 O'LrONDON 
 
 to him, and if it be more than a little, 
 so much the better. The fever is long 
 and grievous to bear; but silver shil- 
 lings can help him to whatever he may 
 lack. He shall have white bread and 
 gruel made with milk and my most 
 loving care." 
 
 "Who tends him now?" asked Shak- 
 spere. 
 
 "Our old nurse, Goody Tabitha. 
 She is watching his every breath, I 
 know. He was too ill to be conscious 
 of my going. Take me to him!" 
 
 "A difficult feat," he answered, "but 
 I am ready. Yet you are very tired. 
 You have had no rest to-day and must 
 have slept but ill last night, for you 
 were awake before dawn." 
 
 "I am very tired !" she assented. 
 
 "Tell me," he continued, "do you 
 purpose to return?" 
 
 Phyllis glanced up, surprised. 
 
 "Dare I disappoint the Queen?" she 
 131 

 
 asked. "I shall most certainly return 
 unless Philip be a-dying." 
 
 "Which God forbid! But how did 
 you hear from him to-day? Who sent 
 you word of him?" pursued Shakspere, 
 insistent on returning to the subject of 
 the letter. 
 
 "Poor man, you are overcome with 
 anxiety concerning me and my affairs! 
 Were you not a poet, I should say that 
 you must be in love. But I suppose 
 poets take interest in all these small 
 details for their art's sake." 
 
 "Why, Phyllis, have you any use for 
 a lover?" 
 
 "What woman has not? I hear them 
 spoken of as exceeding useful; they 
 do make most devoted servants and are 
 excellent to go on errands. If one 
 have a weakness for ribands and com- 
 fits and even for jewels, I have heard 
 that such things are very easily come 
 by through lovers." 
 132
 
 "You are mocking ! And you refuse 
 to tell me of Philip's letter!" 
 
 "Of his letter? Oh, I had forgotten ! 
 Goody sent word by the baker's boy. 
 Poor old nurse she was worried that 
 I did not return ; so she asked Dick to 
 find Master Shakspere, when he 
 brought his rolls to the Palace, and to 
 say to him that sick Phyllis was no 
 worse and to ask why the players were 
 detained. She is pretending that I am 
 the one at home." 
 
 "Oh, Phyllis! when I myself saw 
 one of Southampton's men put a letter 
 into your hand!" exclaimed Shakspere, 
 hot with indignation. "What excuse is 
 there for this idle tale?" 
 
 "What excuse indeed! You have 
 very little intention of giving me rest 
 or peace here. Let us delay no longer. 
 But, sir, since a woman's word bears 
 no weight in your mind, take this let- 
 ter and read it." 
 
 Opening the letter, which was sure- 
 133 
 
 SA 

 
 ly enough in Southampton's well- 
 known hand, he read: 
 
 To Philip, Fairest of Women, Rarest 
 of Men: 
 
 My excuse for addressing you shall 
 end my letter, that you may read of 
 necessity the feelings inspired by your 
 performance of this day. Oh, Juliet, 
 why are you not alive, and I, Romeo? 
 And why, bright Dream of Woman- 
 hood, when I had stormed a Fortress 
 and found therein one whom my un- 
 enlightened spirit called passing fair 
 why has your portrayal of my Ideal 
 crossed my path to destroy the Reality 
 that is my own? My Mistress is al- 
 ready jealous. Of what? Of a Phan- 
 tom that lives in my mind as Beautiful 
 and Lovable as You are! 
 
 To my Postscript: A boy reached 
 
 my apartments after you and my Will 
 
 had gone. He brought a message 
 
 from one, Goody Tabitha, saying that 
 
 134
 
 Phyllis was no worse, but was calling 
 for your return. I saw the boy's mes- 
 sage to be for you, though he asked for 
 Burbage, or Shakspere, thinking to 
 find you the more easily through them. 
 Master Dick has been fed and fee'd 
 and has returned. I promised to see 
 his message safely delivered. 
 
 My rooms are open to you and my 
 beloved Will. Come to me to-night. 
 
 With Greetings of Admiration and 
 Friendship, SOUTHAMPTON. 
 
 And is it strange that, as he read, 
 Will Shakspere's heart was not wholly 
 reassured? 
 
 135
 
 XIV 
 
 In which Phyllis reaches home 
 
 >ND you think Southamp- 
 ton has no idea of your sex?" 
 
 "Why, Will, I should be 
 frightened out of all reason at 
 the thought! I can bear that 
 you should know because be- 
 cause I need your help. I felt that 
 
 "Cbcn ffitoe me torlcomt, nrrt mp bcabcn tbr bf 
 to tbp pure anH most lotitnff breast." 
 Sonnet CX.
 
 O^ONDON 
 
 you would understand. But even you 
 despise me for what I have done. You 
 think I would never have been so 
 brave, had I been truly modest." 
 
 "I am amazed at what you have 
 done! That one without training 
 should have mastered a great art that 
 a young girl should have the wit for 
 such an undertaking. I am amazed at 
 the loveliness that kindles all hearts. 
 But, oh, Phyllis, more am I amazed at 
 myself! You cannot know me, for I 
 do not know myself! Jealous? Sus- 
 picious? Passionate? I? Have the 
 faults of boyhood returned to harass 
 the man? Or is it my youth itself that 
 you have brought back?" 
 
 Phyllis would not have been human, 
 had she remained unmoved by such 
 words from the idol of the players. A 
 flush of delight swept over her face at 
 his praise ; but when he spoke of him- 
 self, her dark eyes grew troubled. 
 137 
 
 
 !:
 
 O'LONbON 
 
 "You fear the influence of others for 
 me," she said, "their flattery and vain 
 words. Be careful, Master Shak- 
 spere, to speak only as you would that 
 others should speak. Believe me I 
 know well I am no match for you! Of 
 no one else have I any fear, and yet 
 you know how truly I have trusted 
 you." 
 
 Chivalry decreed that she should 
 never call her faith misplaced. 
 
 "I shall not offend in word or deed," 
 he said, "but you cannot forbid me to 
 write of you!" 
 
 "Why, heaven itself would sin in re- 
 straining your rhyme!" assented Phyl- 
 lis. "But now, to Philip! before we 
 are either missed or discovered." 
 
 "We must run no risks," declared 
 Shakspere. "See! I shall avoid com- 
 plications by giving my explanation 
 ahead of time." So saying he scrib- 
 bled on a slip of paper: 
 138
 
 Have gone to the Rose Theatre 
 for MS. Return immediately. 
 
 W. S. 
 
 This missive he tacked upon the cur- 
 tain where it must meet the eye of 
 anyone entering the hall. 
 
 Then the two left the theatre by a 
 side door that led into a terraced court ; 
 passing through the courtyard, they 
 soon found themselves beyond the 
 limits of Whitehall, and how sweet the 
 fresh air seemed ! It was to Phyllis as 
 to one set free from prison. Needless 
 to say, they chose to walk in quiet back 
 lanes, for friends and enemies were 
 equally to be avoided. Shakspere 
 made good use of every moment. 
 
 "You have learned Juliet from 
 Philip's study of the part," he said. 
 "Do you need to know more of 
 Helena?" 
 
 "Dear Helena! I have prompted 
 Philip many a time as he learned the 
 139 
 
 \ 

 
 lines. How like to my position was 
 hers! Lost with Lysander in the 
 woods no more completely than was 
 I in the Palace!" 
 
 "Let us not talk of the Palace! We 
 shall return all too soon." 
 
 "You do not like it there?" 
 
 "My likings are more with people 
 than with places: I like wherever my 
 friends may be." 
 
 "Then you love the Palace." 
 
 "Yes, to-day." 
 
 "How fickle that seems! But sure- 
 ly there is some spot on earth that 
 claims your loyalty." 
 
 "Stratford-on-Avon has it, but does 
 not claim it. A peaceful town! Let 
 us not talk of Stratford." 
 
 "You have known sorrow there?" 
 
 "Not more than elsewhere." 
 
 "Do you, most fortunate of men, 
 talk of sorrow? The world seems to 
 give you all you ask." 
 
 "I ask little; much has been given 
 140
 
 me that I do not ask; but the few sim- 
 ple things that make life worth while 
 have been denied." 
 
 "What things are these?" whispered 
 Phyllis. 
 
 "They are all comprised in one," he 
 said, "the loving sympathy of one who 
 understands." 
 
 "That I have always had, and may 
 God preserve me from the loss of it!" 
 exclaimed Phyllis, hiding her face in 
 her hands. "I feel that Philip is very 
 ill, and I grow more anxious as we 
 near the house." 
 
 It is with horror that we approach 
 the possibility of death. The two 
 paused in the doorway, hardly daring 
 to enter. As they mounted the stairs, 
 Shakspere laid a detaining hand on 
 Phyllis. In her impetuous haste, she 
 had no thought but of reaching Philip 
 with all speed. 
 
 "Not thus arrayed!" exclaimed 
 141
 
 Shakspere. "Your dress, Phyllis, 
 would betray your secret. It must 
 needs be altered before you greet our 
 boy. He must not be distressed nor 
 excited." 
 
 She saw the wisdom of the sugges- 
 tion, and threw aside her cloak, prom- 
 ising to change her attire before she 
 went to Philip. Inside the door, 
 Goody Tabitha met them. At sight 
 of Phyllis, she burst into tears, throw- 
 ing her apron over her head and 
 sobbing bitterly. 
 
 "He is dead! Philip!" screamed the 
 sister wildly, rushing toward her 
 brother's door. But in answer to her 
 voice, another called out: "Phyllis!" 
 and entering she knelt beside the pal- 
 let on which the boy lay. He was 
 pale, the fever had left him and his 
 eyes were closed in the exhaustion that 
 comes between the crisis and convales- 
 cence. 
 
 142
 
 "Phyllis," he whimpered, brokenly, 
 "where where have you been? I have 
 called you 
 
 "And I came!" 
 
 "No you did not come. I have 
 called, called and called you were 
 not here." 
 
 Tears of weakness rolled down his 
 cheeks. Phyllis kissed them away. 
 
 Shakspere stood behind her in the 
 doorway, sorrowfully watching the 
 pair. The evening shadows were be- 
 ginning to fall, and he was in no dan^ 
 ger of being seen. 
 
 "Tell me!" whispered Philip, petu- 
 lantly. 
 
 "Dearest, I will tell you, but you 
 know without the telling, that if I was 
 not with you, I was doing something 
 for you." 
 
 "Don't leave me again!" he pleaded. 
 
 Phyllis did not answer, but kissed 
 him, tears running down her cheeks. 
 143
 
 O'LONbON 
 
 With a sigh of satisfaction and relief, 
 he clasped her hand in his, and then, 
 soothed by her sweet presence, fell 
 asleep. 
 
 144 

 
 XV 
 
 In which Shakspere defends the 
 players 
 
 HE sobbing of the old 
 
 woman in the next room in- 
 truded upon the silence. 
 
 Shakspere turned to com- 
 fort her. 
 
 "Mistress Tabitha, be of 
 
 comes it tbat tjjp name rtcetues a farantt 
 Sonnet CXI.
 
 better cheer. My fears are somewhat 
 allayed by the sleep that has fallen 
 upon our sufferer." 
 
 Mistress Tabitha pulled the apron 
 from off her head, showing a furrowed, 
 tear-stained face. Her little black 
 eyes burned angrily. 
 
 "I weep not for Philip, but for the 
 one who can never be well again, nor 
 recover what she has lost her good 
 name!" 
 
 "Now, Goody, such words cannot 
 pass. Who knows of what your little 
 cousin has done? The secret must be 
 well kept, and the world will be none 
 the wiser." 
 
 "You know of it yourself, pretty 
 sir!" cried the crone. "I did but try 
 you, and you confess plainly enough 
 that one of the players knows who 
 trips 'neath the little scarlet cloak! 
 Shame upon you and your crew! And 
 she betrothed to an honest man who 
 will never look her in the face again!" 
 146
 
 O'IX>NDOTST 
 
 Shakspere glanced toward the next 
 room, fearing lest these words had 
 reached the twins. Then he softly 
 closed the door, and with a majestic 
 stride, approached the old woman. 
 
 "Goody,"' he asked sternly, "whose 
 fault is this? How dared you send her 
 down to us in Burbage's arms?" 
 
 "Did I send her, sir? Lord, who 
 could have held her back? You were 
 going to carry off a dying lad!" 
 
 "That does not explain! Answer 
 me! You did not wish to let Philip 
 go?" 
 
 "No, nor would not!" 
 
 "Phyllis has always been a modest, 
 virtuous girl?" 
 
 "God knows it, sir!" 
 
 "Who put such a thought then into 
 her head? You bewitched her, Goody!" 
 he exclaimed, before the terrified old 
 creature could answer. "To save 
 Philip, you bewitched her! And if by 
 tears or words against her, you let one 
 147
 
 breath of dishonor attach to her name, 
 I shall see you reported to the sheriff." 
 
 "Now Heaven be my witness, I, a 
 poor old dame " 
 
 "No words, no words! This must go 
 no further, do you understand?" 
 
 "Alas, sir, what will her brother 
 say?" 
 
 "Who is to tell him?" 
 
 "Why, sir, how can she explain her- 
 self?" " 
 
 "Leave that to her." 
 
 "And all her beauty gone!" 
 
 "Beauty ? Pray, who has stolen that 
 away?" 
 
 "Her hair, sir! Did you not know 
 her braids of hair? Her mother's hair, 
 but twice over! Two strands the like 
 of which are not in London! And she 
 cut it off without a word or even a mo- 
 ment's pause! What would her mother 
 say? Dear gentle lady! What would 
 her father say? Noble gentleman that 
 he was! For, sir, Bloody Queen Mary 
 148 
 
 i
 
 has brought them to this pass. Good 
 Protestants, their fine estate went to 
 the Crown, and the poor father died 
 in prison. My sweet young mistress 
 never smiled after that. Thank God 
 she soon followed her good husband! 
 Thank God she never lived to see this 
 day!" 
 
 Heavy steps were now heard as- 
 cending the stair, and the old woman 
 jumped up, gasping: 
 
 "Oh, 'tis Master Revelation Reeves! 
 Whatever shall I do?" 
 
 Shakspere pushed her back into her 
 chair, with a command to be silent. 
 "Cry if you like, but don't venture to 
 speak!" he said. 
 
 The door opened, and a man of enor- 
 mous stature entered the room. He 
 was clad in the stately, homely Puritan 
 costume of gray; massive and rugged, 
 he seemed like a stone tower; thick 
 iron-gray hair hung to his shoulders. 
 After the custom of his sect, he neither 
 149
 
 A 
 IE 
 
 O' LONDON 
 
 removed his hat nor made any formal 
 greeting. Looking first at Shak- 
 spere, then at Goody Tabitha, he 
 delivered himself of the remark that 
 God had all souls in His keeping. 
 Shakspere's silence and the old 
 woman's broken sobs confirmed this 
 statement. 
 
 The Puritan then addressed himself 
 to Shakspere, taking him naturally 
 enough to be the physician. 
 
 "Learned sir," he exclaimed, "you 
 are doubtless in this house of woe try- 
 ing to mitigate the stern judgments of 
 an angry God. It were better to 
 leave my young brother in peace. On 
 a bed of weakness and pain let him 
 learn the purposes of the Father who 
 chastens him. Plainly in this in- 
 stance is the Divine hand dissuading 
 him from a life of vanity and folly." 
 
 "The hand of a godless man or of 
 the devil has wrought this harm," re- 
 150
 
 PLAYERS 
 O' LONDON 
 
 plied Shakspere. "Why lay 
 God?" 
 
 "I know not of the circumstances," 
 answered the other, somewhat aston- 
 ished. "But if it be as you say, the 
 more it behooves my young relative to 
 remove himself from associations that 
 render his life unsafe. I am the more 
 closely concerned in this matter, be- 
 cause I fear such influences for his sis- 
 ter, Mistress Patience, whom I have 
 called to see." 
 
 "Mistress Patience! I do not know 
 of her." 
 
 "Perhaps the more worldly name of 
 Phyllis has reached you. Is she with- 
 in, Mistress Tabitha?" 
 
 Goody Tabitha opened her mouth 
 to speak; but the reply ended in a 
 groan, for Shakspere had fixed a 
 menacing glance upon her. Mistress 
 Phyllis in a player's red raiment was 
 not a sight for Puritan eyes; but for 
 Mistress Patience, the costume seemed 
 151
 
 even more amiss! The man would 
 crush her in a righteous rage. 
 
 "Mistress Phyllis is within," an- 
 swered Shakspere calmly, "but she is 
 so occupied in her ministrations to her 
 brother that it would not be well to 
 interrupt her or to disturb him." 
 
 "Let her fail in nothing, and, sir, if 
 aught is required for which the means 
 of this household seem inadequate, I 
 shall be here from time to time ready to 
 defray such expenses as you may 
 deem advisable. Moreover, sir, if I 
 might ask you to be of a peculiar serv- 
 ice to me, I would gladly double your 
 accustomed fee." 
 
 An amused smiled flitted over Shak- 
 spere's face. 
 
 "You are offering me a bribe, I fear, 
 worthy sir, and I must assure you that 
 I have not an itching palm. If the 
 peculiar service you ask is one that it 
 befits me to give, I shall be honored to 
 oblige you." 
 
 152 

 
 "Sir physician, you do not know to 
 whom you speak, if you imagine that 
 Revelation Reeves could seek a favor 
 that would demean the donor. No, I 
 ask only your help for the soul of this 
 diseased boy. I am seeking to turn 
 him aside from the path of destruc- 
 tion. Advise him that his health will 
 never permit him to return among the 
 players. Their drinking, gluttony, 
 debauchery, irregularity and " 
 
 "Their list of offenses must be 
 great," broke in Shakspere, "and you 
 doubtless speak from personal experi- 
 ence and intercourse with these de- 
 graded people; but spare me, sir, I 
 have no wish to hear further of them. 
 A priest gave me not long since a 
 scathing description of the Puritans, 
 whom he declared to be without a re- 
 deeming feature ; but on the following 
 day, a Puritan gave me an equally un- 
 pleasant description of the priests. I 
 am an honest man, sir; and, believe me, 
 153
 
 I know not where to turn for compan- 
 ions. Concerning the favor you ask, 
 our opinions differ. It would demean 
 me to press my views upon a sick man; 
 so did I agree with you in regard to 
 the players, I should still refuse; but 
 as it is, let me confess that I have a 
 hearty respect and admiration for 
 them. They seem to me, on the whole, 
 a generous, frank and well-meaning 
 set of men. Moreover, their vocation 
 is one which has its origin in religion. 
 They are teachers and interpreters of 
 life. The Miracle Plays are only 
 acted sermons." 
 
 "Relics of Popery! But I see you 
 will be of no assistance to me, sir. 
 Once more may I inquire for Mistress 
 Patience?" And he turned to Goody 
 Tabitha. "I will await her here." 
 
 "* 
 
 v
 
 XVI 
 
 In which good comrades run away 
 
 HAKSPERE entered 
 
 Philip's room; Phyllis was 
 kneeling by the bed, arid 
 her brother still slept. Twi- 
 light had veiled all in its 
 shadows, but the fact that 
 Phyllis wore masculine attire and that 
 
 for tbrc '3 toatcfc tobilat t&outioet toafer rlsttobrrc, 
 from w far off, toitj) otjjew all too near!" 
 
 Sonnet LXI. 

 
 ' 
 
 , 
 
 O^lfONJDOTST 
 
 her hair hung short on her shoulders 
 could hardly be concealed even with 
 the help of the coming darkness. 
 
 "Phyllis," he said, "one, Revelation 
 Reeves, is waiting without to see you ; 
 hut it is time for us to be gone if you 
 still intend to return with me." 
 
 Phyllis gave a terrified start. 
 
 "Revelation Reeves ! Oh, how I fear 
 that man! So cold, so hard and relent- 
 less! Philip has always come between 
 him and me and lent me courage; but 
 now without Philip, I cannot face him. 
 And, oh heavens, I had forgotten this 
 attire! And my hair is gone! Shak- 
 spere, what shall I do?" 
 
 "You wish to return with me?" 
 
 "Oh, yes, yes, I fear only to be left 
 behind!" 
 
 "If you failed to return, Lord 
 Hunsdon would send here to-morrow 
 to demand explanations." 
 
 "Which I could not give. And if I 
 go, who will be the wiser?" 
 156
 
 O LONDON 
 
 "Goody Tabitha, perhaps, and Rev- 
 elation Reeves." 
 
 "I care not. I try to think only of 
 Philip. When he recovers, how re- 
 joiced he will be to find that his work 
 has not suffered that he is still in 
 favor at Court and has even won 
 praise!" 
 
 "Do not deceive yourself, Phyllis, he 
 may feel that you have run too great 
 risks and have made too big a sacri- 
 fice!" 
 
 Phyllis jumped up, laughing softly. 
 "You do not understand," she said. 
 "Philip and I think alike ; twins always 
 do. He will say, 'Sister, you are 
 braver than I thought, and have done 
 more than I supposed lay in a woman's 
 power to do ! You have kept my place 
 for me among the players and saved 
 me from disgrace. Thank you, my 
 sister, no one can ever love you as I 
 do, and I can never thank you enough 
 for what you have done.' " 
 157 

 
 O' LONDON 
 
 "You think he will say all that?" 
 "I think he will feel it. I know he 
 will feel it. There will be no need to 
 say it all." 
 
 "Then you will return with me?" 
 "Yes, but how? Will they let me?" 
 "Walk close beside me. I will hide 
 you between me and the wall. Step 
 when I step and pause when I stop to 
 speak. They have no candle." 
 
 "But first I must see Goody! I 
 must tell her what to do for Philip !" 
 
 "She knows as well as you do what 
 should be done for Philip. Truly, I 
 think he will be much improved by to- 
 morrow. His sleep is deep and sound, 
 and a bowl of fresh milk on awakening 
 will greatly restore his strength." 
 Here Shakspere bethought himself of 
 the remaining contents of the phial in 
 his pocket. "This wonderful Italian 
 elixir will insure his speedy recovery," 
 he exclaimed. "I had it for him from 
 John Florio, and the greater part of it 
 158 
 

 
 has been wasted on you!" He poured 
 the fluid into a glass and set it on a 
 chair beside the bed. "I can give 
 Goody full directions," he continued, 
 "if you will but do as I have said. 
 Keep close to me!" 
 
 The light was dim in the outer room. 
 
 Shakspere held his cloak loosely over 
 his arm; and as he walked, Phyllis was 
 close on his right side. He hid her 
 slight figure carefully and deliberately 
 and detained her firmly with his right 
 hand when he stopped to speak. 
 
 "Mistress Tabitha, give my patient a 
 bowl of warm milk when he awakens 
 and pour into it the medicine I have 
 left in his glass. He is in a deep sleep, 
 which, I trust, will last until morning. 
 Let no one see him or disturb him on 
 any account. Let no one enter his 
 room unless he call. And you are to 
 speak very little, Goody, and softly." 
 
 A few steps more, and they had 
 159
 
 O*IX>rsTDOIN 
 
 reached the door; here he paused to ad- 
 dress the Puritan: 
 
 "Master Reeves, Mistress Patience 
 bids you make use of that virtue which 
 is her name ; and if she comes not anon, 
 it will be only because her duties have 
 detained her." 
 
 Revelation Reeves bowed his head 
 in acquiescence. There was a look of 
 calm persistence in his pose that boded 
 a lengthy stay, and as the door closed 
 behind them, Shakspere whispered: 
 
 "I warrant you, that granite column 
 will not budge till morning. We have 
 planned a pleasant night for him, 
 which he will spend in happy thoughts 
 of you, feeling your presence near." 
 
 Phyllis disagreed. 
 
 "He comes only from a sense of 
 duty, and that will not keep him long. 
 A message left for me with Mistress 
 Tabitha will serve his ends." 
 
 "Do not believe a man who says he 
 comes to see you from a sense of duty, 
 160
 
 O'L-OrSTDOIN 
 
 Phyllis. I have no special liking for 
 Puritans, yet this one did not strike me 
 as quite a fool. Keep pace with me. 
 They must not hear double steps upon 
 the stairs." 
 
 When the two reached the outer 
 door, Phyllis paused in some trepida- 
 tion. "If he should be looking from 
 the window!" 
 
 "It is too dark for him to recognize 
 us. But Goody will soon be in that 
 forbidden room to hear of your ad- 
 ventures." 
 
 They hurried away from the house 
 and breathed more freely when they 
 had turned a corner and the familiar 
 neighborhood was left well behind 
 them. 
 
 Then Shakspere spoke: 
 
 "Do I understand, Phyllis, that 
 Revelation Reeves is your betrothed 
 husband? I cannot believe Goody 
 Tabitha told the truth in saying so." 
 
 "And why not?" asked Phyllis. 
 161
 
 Shakspere's heart stood still. But 
 it could not be true ! 
 
 "You seem entirely your own mis- 
 tress, Phyllis. Surely you will take 
 counsel of none but your own feelings 
 in so grave a matter!" 
 
 "Not unless it is forced upon me! 
 Master Reeves is our guardian since 
 our father's death. He is a country 
 gentleman of wealth, interested only in 
 the welfare of his soul. Our poverty 
 and distress have in no way disturbed 
 him; but when Philip left the Cathe- 
 dral players, to join a company of 
 veritable actors, Revelation Reeves 
 came post haste to London, fearing 
 that the immortal souls in his charge 
 were in danger. You should have 
 heard Philip talk to him! So bravely, 
 so nobly in defense of his art and of his 
 friends ! How I loved him for it! Dear 
 Philip, he is so loyal! Master Reeves 
 could do nothing with him. But 
 where I was concerned, they agreed 
 162
 
 t>L2\V<SRS 
 O 1 LONDON 
 
 better, and I am to be betrothed be- 
 fore the year is out to some godly man 
 of my guardian's choosing." 
 
 "To himself?" 
 
 "Truly, I do not know. I think not, 
 for he is not yet sufficiently assured of 
 my sobriety and dignity. He has 
 never talked to me of the matter." 
 
 "If he hears aught of this escapade, 
 he will be very angry." 
 
 "But why need he know, Will Shak- 
 spere?" 
 
 "Little rose that you are, how could 
 you bloom in the shadow of such a 
 wall? I hope the man may learn all 
 and wash his hands of you." 
 
 "I should not grieve. I am hap- 
 pier with Philip and with you." 
 
 Her whole heart went out to him 
 in grateful affection, and she knew of 
 no reason to deny the new delight that 
 filled her. "He will trust me and for- 
 get to be jealous or suspicious when he 
 163 

 
 knows I would please him rather than 
 the others," she thought. 
 
 And he? The temptation was too 
 great. His arm slipped unrebuked 
 around her. Why not? It was but a 
 poet and a lad who walked along the 
 Thames toward Whitehall. That 
 they were happier than others, what 
 passer-by knew? 
 
 The moon came up and shone inter- 
 mittently behind a host of small black 
 clouds that scudded angrily by her. 
 
 "See," cried Phyllis, "they try to put 
 her light out, and think they have con- 
 quered her; but she only rises on into 
 the night." 
 
 "Like a blameless soul," murmured 
 Shakspere, with a sigh that came from 
 the depths of his being. 
 
 Phyllis sighed in sympathy. "It is 
 all so beautiful," she whispered. "Is 
 it wrong that I am not grieving more 
 for Philip? He will soon be well. I 
 think only of his surprise when he 
 164 
 
 r"
 
 knows all i have done! Truly, he will 
 be amazed, will he not? Never can 
 he say that it was to no purpose our 
 father taught me in his company. 
 For, Shakspere, you do not know the 
 full list of my accomplishments. I 
 have even made verses. Oh, poetry, I 
 adore it! 
 
 "Shakspere!" She turned to him 
 with tremulous eagerness. "Write 
 something for me! Something that I 
 can have for my own! Lines on this 
 beautiful night the moon shining on 
 the Thames something I can keep for 
 always !" 
 
 With what pretty innocence, she 
 courted her own undoing! Surely, no 
 fair ship with white sails set ever made 
 more gloriously for the destroying 
 reef. The poet was only a man. 
 
 165 

 
 XVII 
 
 In which a poet makes love 
 
 SONNET for you, Phyl- 
 lis? Why, my heart is 
 full of them! Listen!" He 
 paused a moment and then 
 began : 
 
 Thine eyes I love " 
 
 "for notbiaj tine tofte tmltoem 3 call, 
 >abe ibou, mp rose; in it, tbou art my all/ 
 /Sonnet CIX.
 
 "Oh, no the night!" Phyllis inter- 
 rupted. 
 
 "That comes in after: it begins 
 
 "Thine eyes I love, and they, as pity- 
 
 ing me 
 Knowing thy heart torments me 
 
 with disdain 
 Have put on black and loving mourn- 
 
 ers be, 
 
 Looking with pretty ruth upon my 
 pain." . . . 
 
 Phyllis held her breath. 
 
 "And truly not the morning sun of 
 
 heaven 
 Better becomes the gray cheeks of 
 
 the east, 
 Nor that full star that ushers in the 
 
 even, 
 
 Doth half that glory to the sober 
 west 
 
 167
 
 o 1 L-orsrr>oiN 
 
 As those two mourning eyes become 
 
 thy face. 
 Oh, let it then as well beseem thy 
 
 heart 
 To mourn for me since mourning doth 
 
 thee grace, 
 
 And suit thy pity like in every part ; 
 Then I will swear beauty herself is 
 
 black 
 And none are fair that thy complexion 
 
 lack." 
 
 Silence followed, broken only by the 
 water lapping below the embankment. 
 
 At last, Phyllis faltered: 
 
 "I cannot believe that it was new for 
 me! Surely you had thought of it 
 before." 
 
 "Yes, every time I have looked at 
 you, it has been in my thoughts; but, 
 Phyllis, it has never been in words be- 
 fore!" 
 
 "A sonnet, and to me! No one shall 
 168 
 
 s
 
 ever hear it from your lips as I 
 hav 
 
 "Reward me with a kiss! So! 
 
 "Your lips come after your eyes. 
 And only to-day they were cruel! 
 Listen : 
 
 "Those lips that Love's own hand did 
 make 
 
 Breathed forth the sound that said 'I 
 
 hate' 
 To me that languished for her sake; 
 
 But when she saw my woeful state y 
 Straight in her heart did mercy come, 
 
 Chiding the tongue that ever sweet 
 Was used in giving gentle doom, 
 
 And taught it thus anew to greet: 
 'I hate' she altered with an end, 
 
 That followed it as gentle day 
 Doth follow night, who like a friend 
 
 From heaven to hell is flown away; 
 'I hate' from hate away she threw, 
 And saved my life, saying 'not 
 you.' " 
 
 169
 
 "Not you," echoed Phyllis. "Oh, 
 no, indeed! But it was you who were 
 unkind." 
 
 "But I love you, Phyllis!" 
 
 "Do I love you, Will?" 
 
 "No, no, do not say it. You would 
 not mean it." 
 
 "But I think I do." 
 
 "I cannot believe it." 
 
 "But you must." 
 
 "No, no! Think of my position, 
 Phyllis! I cannot drag you down to 
 this level." 
 
 "I shall not call it down." 
 
 *'Would you renounce the possibility 
 of ever becoming the honored wife of 
 such a man as " 
 
 "For your sake? Oh, how can you 
 ask! The happiness of being yours is 
 far, far greater." 
 
 Yours meant "your wife" to Phyllis, 
 but it could not mean that to Will 
 Shakspere while Mistress Anne dwelt 
 placidly in Stratford. 
 170 
 
 15 

 
 "You could not be happy with me 
 alone," he said. 
 
 "Forever!" she insisted. 
 
 "While you loved me!" 
 
 "So long as you loved me." 
 
 "That would be forever!" he ex- 
 claimed. 
 
 "So I believe." 
 
 "But I who am older and wiser can- 
 not believe in your continued love. 
 Phyllis, I know women too well. For 
 a week or a month, I could make you 
 content, and then if you should re- 
 proach me, there would be left me but 
 death in life." 
 
 "Believe me, Shakspere, I am not 
 like others! I fail you? I reproach 
 you? Oh, my dear love, a thousand 
 times, no!" 
 
 He clasped her to his breast. 
 
 "You accept me, then, as your 
 lover?" 
 
 "Yes!" 
 
 171
 
 
 "You consent to belong to me, to me 
 alone?" 
 
 "I am yours alone. How can I be- 
 long to another?" 
 
 "Then this is the hour for which my 
 soul was made. The long years have 
 brought me to if by devious ways, but 
 the sorrows of the past are as nothing! 
 No grief can overtake me but the loss 
 of you " 
 
 "Speak not of that, dear love, you 
 have too little faith." 
 
 "Then teach it me." 
 
 "Truly, I will try, and yet, even I 
 can hardly believe!" 
 
 Oh, beautiful night and golden 
 moon and lovers vows too hastily and 
 too tenderly plighted ! The wonder of 
 a dream was in it all, and the fear of 
 waking now and again breathed a chill 
 breath over each heart. But he only 
 drew her the closer to him, and she 
 only pressed his hand the tighter to her 
 breast. 

 
 XVIII 
 
 In which misfortune threatens a friend 
 
 k HEY reached the Palace 
 toward nine, having heen 
 more than two hours return- 
 ing over a distance that had 
 taken them less than an hour 
 earlier in the day. Making 
 their way at once to the theatre, they 
 
 to&ere t&ott art to&p 
 
 3 &a0te 
 Sonnet LI.
 
 found Lord Hunsdon and several of 
 the players talking over the notice on 
 the curtain. 
 
 "This must be the second time, 
 then," Sly was saying. "He slipped 
 away a little after five, for I was in 
 here looking for him, and 'tis plain he 
 had to go back again for something." 
 
 "I would have sent a man!" ex- 
 claimed Lord Hunsdon. "Faith! the 
 fellow is walking his legs off, while we 
 have need of him." 
 
 "I am here at your service, my 
 Lord," said Shakspere, stepping for- 
 ward. 
 
 " 'Tis well! I was seeking you." 
 "Where shall I attend you, my 
 Lord?" 
 
 "At my apartments." 
 "I shall be there with all speed." 
 "You may come with me at once." 
 "Pardon me; but with your Lord- 
 ship's leave, I must first inform the 
 Earl of Southampton, who awaits 
 174
 
 O'L-orsTDorsf 
 
 me." So saying, Shakspere hurried 
 off with the faithful little shadow who 
 had followed him all day. 
 
 "Oh, Phyllis, I cannot bear to leave 
 you for a moment," he whispered. 
 "My precious little jewel-casket, what 
 corner is safe enough to hide you in?" 
 
 "I am very tired," she answered. 
 "Let me go to rest at once." 
 
 "That will be best. And I will 
 come to you the moment I am free of 
 this business. I know not what it is, 
 but I hate it even without knowing, for 
 it keeps me away from you." 
 
 Once more they entered Southamp- 
 ton's rooms, which were unoccupied as 
 on the previous evening. 
 
 "I dread to leave you, Phyllis, I 
 know not why!" Shakspere cried. "My 
 soul senses some calamity to you." 
 
 "You are over-anxious because of 
 
 my false position here," she said, "and 
 
 I, too, am distressed since you are. 
 
 But I will slip into the little room, and 
 
 175
 
 no one shall know that I am hidden 
 there." 
 
 "Good!" he exclaimed, somewhat re- 
 assured. "And, Phyllis, promise me 
 not to stir until I return!" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "Dearest most beautiful! You 
 know that I shall hasten." 
 
 "There is no need. I shall be safe 
 enough." 
 
 Shakspere sought the Lord Cham- 
 berlain. 
 
 Lord Hunsdon was in most affa- 
 ble humor. He greeted Shakspere 
 with a friendliness and cordiality that 
 was well understood to indicate a com- 
 ing request. After some words of 
 unqualified praise as to the actors and 
 the play of the morning, and some 
 kindly questions and suggestions as 
 to the performance of the morrow, 
 there came a pause. Shakspere, who 
 was burning with eagerness to seek 
 176 
 
 
 w
 
 his new-found idol, made an effort to 
 
 escape. 
 
 "My Lord," he said, "y u have af- 
 fairs of more importance on hand. Do 
 not keep me in suspense, but let me 
 know at once how I can serve you." 
 
 "Since you make it thus easy for me 
 to begin, Master Shakspere, I will 
 come to the point at once. You will 
 be deeply interested, even concerned at 
 what I purpose to relate. It is not too 
 much to say that you are a friend to 
 his Grace of Southampton that he is 
 in fact, your patron?" 
 
 "It is not saying too much, nor even 
 half enough. His Lordship is my 
 most undeservedly kind friend and 
 patron, and I am his most devoted ad- 
 mirer and humble servant." 
 
 "Hum! Ah! Then you would 
 doubtless feel a desire to serve him if 
 need were?" 
 
 "Who can suggest a service that I 
 177
 
 may render to my Lord, does me a 
 real favor." 
 
 "Well, well, this is as I hoped. His 
 Lordship has need of friends; he is in 
 some danger. His mother is in great 
 distress to-night." 
 
 "Her ladyship spoke to me yester- 
 day. She is seeking a marriage for 
 her son " 
 
 "No, no not now! Trying to avoid 
 it, rather! For, Master Shakespere, it 
 is already whispered and loudly whis- 
 pered that the Earl is courting Mis- 
 tress Vernon with too great familiar- 
 ity." 
 
 "Truly, he seems attached to her." 
 
 "Oh, these women! Master Shak- 
 spere, beware of a dark lady! The 
 Queen does well to distrust them. A 
 power of mischief lurks in a brown eye ! 
 And black tresses are a veritable snare ! 
 But this must not come about. The 
 Queen would never brook it. Mis- 
 tress Vernon has some hold on South- 
 178
 
 
 ampton through her cousin Essex, but 
 even he would not approve the match. 
 Lord Southampton must seek a wom- 
 an higher in rank; he must seek a 
 richer woman a better woman! A 
 very different woman in fact! And he 
 can afford to wait a year or two rather 
 than to make such a misalliance as this 
 would be." 
 
 "It can be arranged then, I am sure, 
 my Lord; all the Earl desires is per- 
 mission to wait a little longer. Un- 
 less forced into it, there is no reason 
 why he should marry ; for, my Lord, as 
 you well know, his mistress is already 
 so kind that he has little left to gain." 
 
 "Too true! But I am sure the lady 
 wishes it, and her influence may be 
 powerful. You know what a design- 
 ing woman can do with a hot-headed 
 young man!" 
 
 "Then what do you suggest, my 
 Lord?" 
 
 "That in some way you make an ef- 
 179 

 
 o'LrONDorsr 
 
 fort to divert our friend. If, for in- 
 stance, he could be brought into a mild 
 intrigue with some other woman, or if 
 he could have some occasion for for- 
 eign travel. The latter would be best. 
 These are simply points for you to 
 touch on. I want you to use your in- 
 fluence. You know that Essex leaves 
 shortly with the army for Cadiz. That 
 would be a good opening." 
 
 "In this matter I cannot promise, 
 my Lord; it is little to my liking to 
 try to force my opinions or those of 
 others upon a friend. I have already 
 refused one such request this evening. 
 My influence is somewhat over-rated 
 I do assure you." 
 
 "But I wish you to know that im- 
 prisonment would follow any attempt 
 on his Lordship's part to marry one of 
 the Queen's maids without her Maj- 
 esty's consent." 
 
 "Surely, then, Mistress Vernon 
 could never wish to ruin him!" 
 180 
 
 -
 
 "She would ruin him fast enough in 
 order to have him! Such a fine young 
 man, too! It is a pity! I wanted you 
 as his friend to know. That is all. 
 Pray do what you can." 
 
 Shakspere took a hurried leave, after 
 promising to do his best. He was less 
 impressed by this unpleasant news 
 than he would have been a few days be- 
 fore. To return to Phyllis! that was 
 all his thought. He re-entered South- 
 amptons' chamber, and gave thanks 
 that it was empty. He crossed to the 
 door of the little room in which his be- 
 loved lay hid. 
 
 "Phyllis," he whispered. But she 
 had been very tired, perhaps she was 
 now asleep ! There came no response, 
 and he assured himself that he had ex- 
 pected none. He lifted the latch of 
 the door very softly and opened it a 
 little way. 
 
 "Phyllis!" he said again. Then he 
 closed the door, and curbing his impa- 
 181
 
 tience, resolutely determined not to en- 
 ter the room as his whole soul cried 
 out to do. 
 
 "God forbid that I should intrude 
 upon my lady's sleep," he said to him- 
 self. "No, let me wait until she can 
 assure me of my welcome." 
 
 "Truly," he added, "love maketh of 
 a proud man an excellent slave." 
 There was no sleep for his eyes, but 
 he pulled the couch before her door as 
 on the previous night and lay listen- 
 ing for the slightest sound that should 
 tell him Phyllis waked or in her dreams 
 whispered his name. 
 
 182
 
 XIX 
 
 In which Phyllis meets with a great 
 loss. 
 
 HEN Shakspere left her, 
 Phyllis went, as she had 
 promised, into the little 
 wardrobe off of Southamp- 
 ton's room. She was just 
 within and had not had time 
 
 ffritf Itea antoart, auto rap iop 
 
 Sonnet L.
 
 O 7 LONDON 
 
 to close the door when the young Earls 
 of Southampton and Bedford entered 
 the apartment. Not wishing to make 
 her presence known by the click of the 
 latch, she gently pulled the door to. 
 Her heart was so full of happiness that 
 the little room seemed to hold all the 
 stars of heaven and all the flowers of 
 the field. The moon, too, was there, 
 shining on the Thames; she had 
 brought with her all the beautiful, 
 never-to-be-forgotten night. She still 
 felt her lover's arm about her, and the 
 music of his words was in her ears ; but 
 her ecstatic mood was harshly dispelled 
 when the laughter of the two Lords in 
 the adjoining room broke rudely upon 
 her. Then Southampton's clear voice 
 rang out mockingly: 
 
 "No, Bedford, no! Fortune has al- 
 ready blessed you beyond your deserts ! 
 My contingent is none too large, and 
 those who attach themselves to me for 
 love, I shall reward in kind. You 
 184
 
 
 shall not take one away from me, no, 
 
 m 
 
 ,*2sSa 1 not one ! If it had been my doing, why, 
 
 
 ^ 
 
 r 
 
 then it were a different matter!" 
 
 '-^ 
 
 / 
 
 
 r? 
 
 "If it had been your doing, I should 
 
 
 
 
 
 not ask anything of you ! I would not 
 
 
 
 
 
 take away the scamp, if you had hired 
 
 
 
 
 
 him! But of all the brazen effrontery! 
 
 
 
 
 
 To tell me with such an honest face 
 
 
 
 
 
 that he was already considering serv- 
 
 
 
 
 
 ice under you !" 
 
 
 
 
 
 "He was, he was!" laughed South- 
 
 
 
 
 
 ampton. "I did not know it, that is 
 
 
 
 
 
 all; he was considering it, and if he 
 
 
 
 
 
 knows his mind now and wants it, he 
 
 
 
 
 
 has got it!" 
 
 
 
 
 
 "But, zounds! I wanted that boy, 
 
 
 
 
 
 and you care nothing about him." 
 
 
 
 
 
 "You mistake," replied Southamp- 
 
 
 
 
 
 ton sweetly, "I do care now I love all 
 
 
 
 
 
 who have the good taste to love me. I 
 
 
 
 
 
 would not part with Philip for any- 
 
 
 
 
 
 thing you could offer!" 
 
 
 
 
 
 "You are easy prey, my Lord," 
 
 
 
 
 
 snorted Bedford, then turning back as 
 
 
 
 
 185 
 
 j 
 
 
 vivV ' ss \ 
 

 
 he was about to leave the room, he 
 sent a Parthian shaft. 
 
 "Your dear Shakspere is this minute 
 plotting to ruin you with Mistress 
 Vernon! Hunsdon has just sought 
 him after an interview with your 
 mother, and he is engaging to turn 
 your interests elsewhere." 
 
 "That dear friend cannot seem to do 
 enough for me," responded South- 
 ampton, "he has me always on his 
 heart, and I doubt not you are right 
 about this matter. Shakspere knows 
 that ennui is ruinous to my beauty and 
 to my temper. He is often quicker 
 than I to detect its approach." 
 
 "If he had spent less time planning 
 for your wife and more time taking 
 care of his own, you would both be bet- 
 ter off." 
 
 "Mistress Anne is quite well and 
 happy," retorted Southampton. "You 
 have been misinformed if anyone has 
 told you to the contrary." 
 186 

 
 Bedford left, slamming the heavy 
 door after him, and Southampton con- 
 tinued to laugh for some time after 
 the other had gone. Then he straight- 
 ened himself up, and an amused twin- 
 kle came into his eyes. 
 
 "This Philip does seem eminently 
 desirable! If I could only know 
 whether Shakspere had brought the 
 witch here for me or for himself, I 
 might tell better how to proceed. Per- 
 haps this is his plan to turn me aside 
 from my present flame. Will Shak- 
 spere's taste is beyond all praise. 
 Heavens, was not that Juliet some- 
 thing to die for!" 
 
 At this moment, the wardrobe door 
 opened, and as if in response to his 
 unspoken desire, the face he was think- 
 ing of appeared before him. 
 
 "Ah, little Philip," exclaimed 
 Southampton, "I was but now speak- 
 ing of you." 
 
 "And I, my Lord, a forced listener 
 187 
 
 r
 
 
 A 
 
 to you and my Lord of Bedford, must 
 confess the fault " 
 
 "And receive absolution full and 
 free." 
 
 "If I am pardoned, may I ask of 
 your Grace a favor?" 
 
 "Yes, and I grant it before it is 
 asked. You wish to enter my service; 
 I will have you gladly, but only with 
 Master Shakspere's consent : only with 
 Master Shakspere's consent, mind you, 
 for I am very loyal to my friends." 
 
 "Then be my friend, my Lord, and 
 help me!" entreated Phyllis. "It is 
 not of entering service that I wish to 
 speak, but of another matter. I know 
 not how to explain myself, but oh, my 
 Lord, help me, help me to get away!" 
 
 Southampton leaned back and sur- 
 veyed her with cool amazement. 
 
 "Little friend, I cannot be sure 
 
 whether you are acting now or not! 
 
 Your vehemence surprises me no less 
 
 than the strangeness of the favor you 
 
 188
 
 O' LONDON 
 
 ask. Pray, where is it that you wish to 
 be escorted at this hour? What part 
 of Whitehall demands your presence 
 for the rest of the night? Perchance 
 you are not comfortably bestowed in 
 that closet room?" he added, as an aft- 
 erthought. "Believe me, there is noth- 
 ing here but what is at your service." 
 
 "Oh, no, no!" exclaimed the fright- 
 ened girl. 
 
 "Tell me, sweet, what is it that you 
 want?" 
 
 It flashed through Phyllis's mind 
 that it would take a good answer to 
 save her from the double disaster of 
 Shakspere's returning and finding her 
 again with Southampton. 
 
 "I have lost something*" she said, "a 
 jewel I prize more than anything else 
 in the world. I had it this morning, 
 and now it is gone. I cannot rest un- 
 til I have at least looked about the 
 stage for it." 
 
 "Is it a ring that you have lost?" 
 189 

 
 "No, my Lord, a heart; one left me 
 by my mother." 
 
 "I have never noticed it; where did 
 you carry it?" 
 
 "As an amulet on my breast, my 
 Lord. It was too precious to show." 
 
 "Of gold?" 
 
 "Of pure gold, my Lord. I have 
 never been without it." 
 
 "When did you discover the loss?" 
 
 "While you were talking with the 
 Earl." 
 
 Here Phyllis burst into tears, bitter 
 tears ! All she had said was true, and 
 it came over her with a hopeless sense 
 of bitterness and shame. Her heart 
 was not only lost; it was crushed and 
 broken. 
 
 "What! weeping?"' exclaimed 
 Southampton. "I cannot believe you 
 would take the loss of a childish trinket 
 so seriously! I shall be glad to replace 
 it for you." 
 
 "No one can replace it, my Lord." 
 190 
 
 
 raa
 
 FLAVORS 
 O' LONDON 
 
 "Then we shall find it in the morn- 
 ing." 
 
 "I am going to seek it now." 
 
 "No, I think it best to keep you here 
 a little longer. Will Shakspere will 
 soon return," said Southampton, lay- 
 ing a detaining hand upon her arm. 
 
 By this time, Phyllis was in mad 
 haste to be gone. 
 
 "My Lord," she said, her eyes flash- 
 ing dangerously, "I have a most un- 
 ruly temper. If you seek to cross me, 
 I shall forget all your past kindness 
 and give a scream that will wake the 
 farthest echoes." 
 
 "A scream is very easily stifled," re- 
 torted Southampton, looking much 
 amused. 
 
 "But as a host," he continued, "force 
 does not become me. I will go with 
 you to the theatre. It is not lighted 
 now." 
 
 So saying, he took a hand-lamp and 
 followed her into the hall. 
 191
 
 Phyllis made no objection; she was 
 well satisfied to have a companion 
 through the dim corridors, and the lit- 
 the wick flared up brightly at every 
 turn and cast its friendly light into the 
 dark corners where suspicious shadows 
 lurked. 
 
 192
 
 XX 
 
 In which the Earl endeavors to console 
 
 HEN they reached the 
 theatre, Southampton 
 stepped ahead, opened the 
 door and took a careful sur- 
 vey; then he closed the door 
 softly and turned back 
 
 again. 
 
 ftc.irt t&at makes my Ijcart to groan 
 Jar that fcerp toatmti it sibee rap frienU anH me!" 
 
 CXXXIII.
 
 "It is just as I thought, you little 
 witch," he exclaimed, "Burbage is 
 there on the stage waiting for you. 
 Please throw aside this masquerade. 
 If you are tired of Shakspere, take 
 me!" 
 
 For a moment, Phyllis was too 
 frightened to speak. Then, "My 
 Lord, you are jesting!" she gasped. 
 
 "No, I am in earnest." 
 
 "You know who I am?" 
 
 "I know you are not what you pre- 
 tend to be!" 
 
 "You refuse to let me enter here?" 
 
 "I do." 
 
 "And if I insist?" 
 
 "I shall prevent you." 
 
 "I shaU call to Burbage for help!" 
 exclaimed Phyllis. 
 
 "Your call will never be heard." 
 He shook out his silken kerchief. "I 
 should smother it with " 
 
 "You would strangle me?" fal- 
 tered Phyllis. 
 
 194 

 
 Oh, what a child you are! 
 
 you? Not for worlds ! I should smoth- 
 
 er your scream with kisses, 
 you mind that so much?" 
 
 She made no response and stood a 
 moment, thinking. Her plight seemed 
 desperate. 
 
 "My Lord," she said at last, "I ad- 
 mired and respected you last night 
 when you told me of your love for the 
 most beautiful lady in the Court! 
 Think now how you are falling in my 
 esteem! What, sir, is more to be con- 
 demned than an unfaithful lover?" 
 
 "Why, there is only one answer to 
 that a faithless lady is more to be 
 condemned, as all the world admits. 
 But, in this Court, pardons are easily 
 had for the one and for the other. 
 Our Virgin Queen shines all the more 
 resplendent in contrast with the frail- 
 ties of those who surround her!" 
 
 "And yet, you, sir, I should expect 
 to find above these swaying fancies a 
 195
 
 knight whose loyalty has been called 
 steadfast as the North Star!" 
 
 The Earl blushed. He was not 
 proud of the part he was playing. 
 Mistress Vernon and Will Shakspere 
 were both like to be betrayed. Yet 
 for his life, he could not have torn him- 
 self away from this bewildering girl 
 in the page's suit of red. 
 
 "It is not right that you should 
 chide me," he said, "for I follow your 
 eyes bewitched, as do all who see you. 
 Moreover, my loyalty is proven in my 
 guarding a treasure that rightly be- 
 longs to my friend. Tell me truly, is 
 not Shakspere your lover?" 
 
 Phyllis clasped her hands to her 
 breast where her heart seemed like to 
 break. Why had she tried to escape 
 from that dearest of men? Why had 
 she not waited and told him all told 
 him how impossible it would be for her 
 to be the blot upon the fair pages of his 
 honor! She could have trusted him, 
 196
 
 O' LONDON 
 
 she should have trusted him! Ah yes, 
 and then she admitted to herself that 
 she had fled because she could not have 
 trusted herself! At his side, the rest of 
 the world would have lost its due pro- 
 portion: she would have realized only 
 that she had found her world in him. 
 And that other Mistress Anne 
 would have slipped so far into the 
 background as to be forgotten. 
 
 "My Lord," she said, "I have run 
 away from Will Shakspere. I am a 
 girl, as you have guessed ; but what you 
 will not believe, I am an honest girl 
 most unhappy. I took my brother's 
 place with the players because he was 
 sick unto death. I was kept here by 
 force last night, but Will Shakspere 
 guarded me safely in your little room. 
 He is good and kind, as are you, my 
 Lord. Now leave me just to show 
 that you believe what I have said." 
 
 "What you have said does not ex- 
 plain your being here to-night." 
 197
 
 "No!" She raised a lovely, tearful 
 face to his and then cast down her eyes. 
 "My Lord, I have lived and died since 
 yesterday. To-night Will Shakspere 
 told me that he loved me! I confessed 
 my love for him. I thought to be his 
 wife!" 
 
 "His wife !" It was now Southamp- 
 ton's turn to be astonished. 
 
 "I knew nothing of Mistress Anne," 
 she continued, "until I heard you 
 speak of her to-night. He said he 
 loved me, but it was my fault! I tried 
 so hard to please him! He spoke of 
 his sad position I thought he meant 
 the profession of which he is really 
 proud. Oh, I was blindly foolish, but 
 I led him on, not knowing; and now 
 how shall I face him? My Lord, you 
 must go to him. Tell him of the mis- 
 take I have made! Ask him to forgive 
 me, as I forgive him, and to forget- - 
 as I can never do." 
 
 "You knew nothing of Mistress 
 198
 
 Anne? Why, Shakspere has used you 
 shamefully ! Shamefully indeed !" said 
 the Earl with virtuous indignation. 
 
 "Oh, no, the fault was all mine! I 
 forgot a woman's place. But after 
 what I told him he will never, never 
 understand!" 
 
 "Well, since knowing something of 
 Mistress Anne grieves you so greatly, 
 why not know less of her and forget 
 her altogether?" suggested the Earl. 
 
 "Alas, I am sick with sorrow," 
 mourned Phyllis, "but no deed of mine 
 shall ever make my mother to weep in 
 her grave." 
 
 "My advice is to forget Mistress 
 Anne. It is very easily done; she 
 never has been to London. How do 
 we know that she really exists at all? 
 She demands far less attention than 
 other ladies our poet's brain creates." 
 
 "But she is still his wife. Is she 
 beautiful? No, no! I do not wish to 
 hear of her nor to think more of him." 
 
 199
 
 "This is verily beauty in distress! 
 How shall I best console you?" he said, 
 and kissed her. But Phyllis was too 
 wretched to care. 
 
 "Will Shakspere hath a rare charm, 
 but there are other men!" 
 
 "There is none comes after the 
 King! He shall be my King always; 
 afar from me but faithfully loved. 
 Now look again into the theatre, my 
 Lord, I think I heard the side door 
 close. By this time, Burbage is gone." 
 
 They entered. The stage was de- 
 serted. 
 
 The moon which had lighted Phyl- 
 lis's walk was now in mid-sky, and on 
 the floor lay pools of white light from 
 the upper windows. 
 
 "A grewsome place in which to leave 
 a weeping girl alone," he muttered. 
 "Sweet one, if you will go back with 
 me, I promise you peaceful rest. Not 
 a word, not a whisper, shall disturb 
 you." 
 . 200 
 
 '
 
 "There is no rest where the players 
 are, I have found that out!" she an- 
 swered wearily. "Here, my Lord! See! 
 This is where I shall sleep to-night." 
 
 Juliet's bier was her couch. She 
 folded the black draperies over her and 
 closed her eyes. 
 
 The Earl of Southampton looked at 
 her in dismay. "Oh, not there!" he 
 entreated. "It is too forbidding." 
 
 She looked up with a sad little smile. 
 
 "I am safe here, and you have been 
 kind." 
 
 "Perchance you are safe, but you are 
 not happy. And I am at a loss how to 
 explain this to Will Shakspere. I 
 shall say nothing at all to him of your 
 whereabouts." 
 
 "That is well. I wish not to see 
 him." 
 
 "I am sorry for him. He loves a 
 lady who runs away from love." 
 
 "Oh, no, my Lord! Not from love, 
 but from shame and disgrace. It 
 201
 
 O LONDON 
 
 could never have come about but for 
 my folly." 
 
 "You are a little Puritan; but the 
 Puritans will never want you back 
 among them after this play-acting." 
 
 "I care not. I have done no wrong. 
 My brother will understand." 
 
 "Well, sweetheart, if trouble befalls 
 you, count upon me as a friend. There 
 are many ways in which I might be of 
 service to you; and there is nothing 
 that I should refuse. Since your loss 
 cannot be mended, I shall make no ef- 
 fort to replace it ; but wear this token 
 as a sign of my affection and regard. 
 It will secure speech with me for your- 
 self or for any messenger by whom you 
 may choose to send it." 
 
 With these words, he took from 
 among the jewels that he wore a little 
 heart of gold such as she had described. 
 It bore his monogram and crest in 
 beautiful workmanship a fact that 
 Phyllis was in no mood to appreciate.
 
 O* LONDON 
 
 She could not know that the locket, 
 and the chain from which the Earl now 
 proceeded to suspend it, were intended 
 originally as a gift for Elizabeth Ver- 
 non ; and so she let him clasp the chain 
 around her neck, but made no fitting 
 show of gratitude. 
 
 Then, most unwillingly, the Earl 
 left her. 
 
 And thus it happened that while 
 the Puritan watched before one door 
 and Will Shakspere before another, 
 Phyllis lay crying alone, in the great 
 deserted hall. 
 
 208
 
 XXI 
 
 In which everyone is miserable 
 
 OUTHAMPTON en- 
 tered his apartments in a 
 depressed frame of mind. 
 The sight of Shakspere rest- 
 ing before the door of the 
 empty room disturbed him 
 further. He felt no desire to tell his 
 
 ')o*t tbtm ttttfirt mp eltunbrru sbouHj be broken 
 WWt ebaBome like to tbee )o morfe mp eijbt ?"
 
 O LONDON 
 
 friend that the bird had flown; such 
 discoveries some soon enough in the 
 natural course of events. While 
 grieved for Shakspere's loss and for 
 Phyllis's unhappiness, he was also dis- 
 concerted at his own position. As an 
 honorable man it was his duty to 
 marry Elizabeth Vernon; that might 
 mean ruin. His passion for her had 
 been intense, but it had been easily 
 gratified! He could have wished her 
 more like the little Puritan. "And 
 sweets grown common lose their dear 
 delight," he mused, quoting from his 
 poet. "Oh, Betty Vernon oh, Lady 
 Juliet! what a sad maze you have me 
 in!" 
 
 Matters had reached such a pass 
 that he must either marry his lady- 
 love or leave the Court. He was will- 
 ing to marry her, had his guardians 
 sanctioned the match. He did not 
 care enough for her to face imprison- 
 ment, perhaps death, for her sake; the 
 205 

 
 first wild enthusiasm of his love was 
 over. It seemed to the Earl that he 
 was more seriously involved than were 
 these unfortunate players, for no hon- 
 orable escape was left him. "I fear I 
 shall be forced to develop a martial 
 spirit and sail with Essex for Spain," 
 he said to himself, "but that is not solv- 
 ing the problem, it is only running 
 away." Wherein he spoke the truth, 
 as history was to prove. 
 
 Southampton retired, without con- 
 fiding his perplexities to Shakspere, 
 who was feigning a sleep as peaceful 
 as that which shortly overtook the 
 Earl. No sooner did the young man's 
 even breathing assure the poet that he 
 slept, than Shakspere was up and at 
 work upon his everlasting rhymes by 
 the light of the little lamp that had 
 guided his sweetheart's steps away 
 from him. He was eagerly planning 
 a series of sonnets to Phyllis on the 
 theme of love, a companion series to 
 206
 
 the sonnets on friendship that he had 
 nearly completed in honor of his 
 patron. The morning dawned with- 
 out his becoming aware that Phyllis 
 was absent. 
 
 At sunrise, he was interrupted by a 
 knock at the outer door; hastening into 
 the hall he found Burbage there. The 
 great tragedian seemed much dis- 
 traught. He could hardly speak, and 
 his teeth fairly chattered. 
 
 "Come with me!" he exclaimed, seiz- 
 ing Shakspere's hand. "Come, there 
 is a ghost abroad. I am greatly dis- 
 turbed by a recent adventure. I went 
 into the theatre early this morning: the 
 moon had set in the west and the sun 
 had not risen, yet its veiled light was 
 brightening the sky; and, Shakspere, 
 when I stepped upon the stage, I 
 thought I should turn to stone with 
 fright. I saw Philip lying on the bier, 
 his eyes closed, dead! I saw him as 
 plainly as I see you now! I went up 
 207 
 
 V
 
 to him as close as I am to you now. 
 I touched his hand, it was cold. Then 
 I fled, horrified! I told Armin and Sly 
 that our poor little friend was dead. 
 They hurried to the stage, and, Shak- 
 spere, no one was there! But, friend, I 
 saw with my eyes and even touched 
 with my hands. This forebodes some 
 awful catastrophe. Was Philip with 
 you last night?" 
 
 Shakspere made no answer. He 
 doubted not that Philip had died in 
 the night. Alone at home, perhaps he 
 had called for his sister and called in 
 vain, with no response from her he 
 loved best. "And Phyllis slept so 
 quietly that even I was grieved," he 
 said to himself with a sigh. 
 
 They mounted the stage and exam- 
 ined the bier. It had certainly been 
 pulled from its place in the wings, and 
 the draperies were somewhat disar- 
 ranged. 
 
 "I am not superstitious," said Bur- 
 208
 
 O'lrOTNDON 
 
 bage, "and what I saw, I saw! You 
 can hardly blame me for dreading to 
 know what the day may bring forth." 
 
 "I am superstitious," said Shak- 
 spere, "if that means to believe that 
 there are secrets in heaven and earth 
 beyond our understanding. I doubt 
 not I shall live to rue this day. If it 
 were any other than yourself who 
 made the report, I should not be dis- 
 turbed; but your nerves are of iron. 
 Yet the moonlight plays strange 
 tricks ; if a ray of light fell lengthwise 
 across the black folds " 
 
 "Yes, it might look like a white 
 figure, but hardly like a figure clothed 
 in brilliant red, with pale face and 
 hands cold to the touch." 
 
 "Well, there remains only to pro- 
 ceed!" exclaimed Shakspere impatient- 
 ly. "Can we give up the play? The 
 Earl of Bedford was pleased to tell 
 the Queen of its success at his wedding 
 celebration, and he has quoted Puck's 
 209 
 
 '
 
 O' LONDON 
 
 words of her Majesty. She wishes to 
 hear herself described 'The moon's im- 
 perial votaress.' Every one knows 
 that we are ready to give the play and 
 what excuse can we offer?" 
 
 "Have you not noticed a change in 
 Philip?" questioned Burbage, un- 
 easily. 
 
 "Since he came with us? None. 
 And he has been more with me than 
 with you." 
 
 "Well, have an eye on him to-day. 
 Bedford and Southampton have both a 
 mind to take him from our company: 
 but truly, I should feel as badly to have 
 him desert us as to have him dead." 
 
 "Bedford and Southampton ! Where 
 did you learn of their plans ? Bedford, 
 indeed! He could never steal away 
 one of my players! He lacks the wit 
 to make his service seem attractive and 
 starts in to make of a new man a bar- 
 ber. But Southampton! That is an- 
 other matter. Who told you of his in- 
 210 

 
 tentions?" Shakspere was evidently 
 disturbed. 
 
 At this moment, Phyllis came 
 toward them. She had concealed her- 
 self in a recess near the door and ap- 
 peared to have but just entered the 
 theatre. Both men hastened to greet 
 her. 
 
 "We have been talking of you, 
 Philip,'* said Burbage. "I am not 
 happy about you. I have a dread of 
 secret poisoning, and it seems to me 
 you grow paler each day." 
 
 "I am pale to-day with good rea- 
 son," answered Phyllis. "I have made 
 a grievous mistake. I must get for- 
 giveness of Will Shakspere before I 
 know peace again." Child that she 
 was, she thought to be over at once with 
 the sad matter that oppressed her. 
 
 Shakspere's eyes rested tenderly on 
 her sweet face. "It is granted with- 
 out my hearing further," he said.
 
 "No, I must talk with you," Phyllis 
 insisted. 
 
 "If he attempts to scold you for 
 your fault, call on me," cried Burbage, 
 "unless you speak of some change in 
 your plans. We shall not excuse you 
 from our service." So saying, he left 
 them. 
 
 M
 
 XXII 
 
 In which Phyllis knows not her own 
 mind. 
 
 HAKSPERE," she 
 
 turned to him limpid eyes 
 swimming with tears and 
 lips that trembled like those 
 of a child about to weep 
 "Shakspere, yesterday I for- 
 
 bator 31 bato tbcr act a Hmm tooth flatter; 
 sleep a tunff, but toakinff, no mc& matter." 
 
 Sonnet
 
 O 1 L-OrSTDON 
 
 got everything but you. To-day, the 
 world crowds in upon me. Dearest, I 
 cannot!" 
 
 "You cannot? Why, that means 
 you will not! What will you not? 
 Have I lost by my patience through 
 the long night? I lay like a faithful 
 dog before your door, not venturing 
 to whisper for fear of disturbing your 
 sleep! But it is not that!" He seized 
 both her hands in his. "You do not 
 speak of our love, for that is a heaven- 
 ly thing. It is of this play you speak ! 
 You mean you cannot go on with it 
 you must no longer take this risk! 
 Burbage feels it. I will send to the 
 Queen's Players at the Cathedral for 
 a substitute. This is of no great im- 
 portance, and, dear love, if it were, 
 you are more to me now than all else. 
 I loved you first because you gratified 
 my vanity and my ambition; but now 
 because you alone can satisfy my every 
 desire." 
 
 214
 
 "Oh, Shakspere," exclaimed Phyllis, 
 "I could not satisfy you long! Were 
 we alone in some island of the sea, we 
 might make our world anew ; but here 
 in the envious crowd, I should be like a 
 jewel lying in your hand, yet not fas- 
 tened to it by any ring. Every 
 glance upon me would arouse your 
 suspicions; for, Shakspere, you have 
 too lively a mind to rest your faith up- 
 on a woman not lawfully bound to you. 
 You would say at last, 'She is not 
 faithful to the honest mother who bore 
 her! How long will she be faithful to 
 me?' " 
 
 He looked at her in amazement. 
 
 "Phyllis!" he exclaimed, "what 
 change has come over you since last 
 night? You melted into my arms, the 
 other "half of me, the dream and the 
 song of my lif e became woman ! I have 
 been like one dying of thirst since I left 
 you! What has changed you? To 
 215
 
 whom have you spoken that has told 
 you so falsely of me !" 
 
 "See, already you ask 'To whom 
 have you spoken?' No one has talked 
 to me of you. My conscience has awak- 
 ened. It was drowned in the poetry 
 and the moonlight." She would not 
 say "I did not know"; it seemed to cast 
 the blame on him. 
 
 "Love is too young to know what 
 conscience is!" vowed Shakspere. 
 "You mean that I have ceased to be 
 the world to you! Oh, Phyllis, you 
 cannot ask me to resign what I never 
 claimed, and what you off ered of your 
 own will!" 
 
 "I am thinking now of your wife." 
 
 "I have had no wife these many 
 years and never had a mate." 
 
 "Mistress Anne?" 
 
 "Oh, Phyllis, she is far away, re- 
 moved from me and from my life by 
 her own will! She has no part in it I 
 have not seen her these ten years. She 
 216
 
 played Venus to a boy Adonis for a 
 brief space ; but an accession of virtue 
 since her marriage has made her the 
 most rigid of Puritans. She despises 
 my present calling, though she enjoys 
 the fruits of it. Mistress Anne is a 
 contented woman, happy in her chil- 
 dren and her home, while I must I be 
 denied the companionship that is life's 
 only happiness? Phyllis, the world 
 admits the right of such a love as I 
 feel for you!" 
 
 "The world may admit it, and so 
 weak am I that I, too, would gladly 
 admit it ; if I could put faith in what is 
 faithless if I could honor what is not 
 honorable, or if you could! But no! 
 Listen : 
 
 I thine, thou mine! O dream too sweet 
 
 to be! 
 Yet 'twas the hope thy dear words 
 
 raised in me. 
 
 217
 
 
 A blot upon thy fame's fair page to 
 
 make? 
 
 Forgive me, Love! I cannot for 
 Love's sake! 
 
 That is my final answer. I said it 
 over a thousand times before I fell 
 asleep. You love me, not because I 
 am beautiful, for you know many 
 beautiful women. If you love me, 
 Shakspere, it is because I try to be 
 good and brave and true. Your soul 
 divines the truth, even though you fail 
 to believe it." 
 
 "You are not true I cannot believe 
 you!" exclaimed Shakspere. "If I 
 had tempted you, this would be no 
 more than I deserved. But I guarded 
 every word. I kept my eyes away 
 from your face and treated you as my 
 own sister; I took you safely home. 
 Then, Phyllis, you came back with me 
 of your own will. You invited me to 
 speak of love, you asked me to trust 
 218
 
 you; you protested your faithfulness, 
 your utter devotion ; when I could not 
 believe you, you pleaded with me to 
 believe! And, now oh, Phyllis, there 
 is only one way to explain this 
 change!" His reasoning was swept 
 you. For very pity, deceive me again 
 into the bliss of yesterday!" 
 
 "How can I endure this?" moaned 
 away in his anguish "Phyllis, I love 
 Phyllis. "You will not understand!" 
 
 "I cannot understand." 
 
 "Return then to your own words a 
 short time since ; you said 'Juliet could 
 face death but not disgrace.' " 
 
 "Yes, and you vowed she should 
 have left all to follow Romeo." 
 
 "I see now, Shakspere, that you 
 were right." 
 
 "I know that you were right, and I 
 was wrong. But it matters not to 
 you. At your bidding, reason hath left 
 me. I am past cure. Your conquest 
 of me is complete. You look now else- 
 219 
 
 1
 
 Does my dear friend please 
 
 where, 
 you?" 
 
 "Oh, most unkind! You do not love 
 me! Love could not live side by side 
 with such base thoughts!" 
 
 "Why, how else can I justify the 
 wrong that your unkindness lays upon 
 my heart? Deny it, Phyllis, deny it 
 all! Tell me what I have said is all 
 a lie!" 
 
 "'Tis all a lie!" 
 "And you are true?" 
 "Oh, I am true, too true, alas!" 
 "For if I should despair, I should 
 go mad." 
 
 "Do not despair!" 
 "You do not love another?" 
 "None but you, nor ever shall!" 
 "In any case, 'tis wise to tell me so!" 
 "It is not wise, but it is true!" and 
 Phyllis, sobbing, threw her arms about 
 his neck. Tears, kisses, reassuring 
 words and tenderest reconciliation! 
 "What power now can save my soul 
 220 
 
 -
 
 from hell ?" asked Phyllis. "For here 
 on earth, I have sinfully accepted 
 heaven!" 
 
 And he answered, "If there be one 
 hell, there must needs be two ; for mine 
 could only be the place where you were 
 not!"
 
 XXIII 
 
 In which Philip shows his gratitude, 
 and Phyllis finds a champion 
 
 HE players and their 
 friends were now thronging 
 into the theatre. 
 
 "A brief rehearsal, good 
 fellows," said the Lord Cham- 
 berlain, "then after breakfast 
 
 "Cl)P6rlf tbp foe, to tb? stum self too mtfl.' 
 
 Sonnet I.
 
 K PlAVCRS 
 O LONDON 
 
 we will give the play. That being fin- 
 ished, her Majesty proposes a most lib- 
 eral payment for your intelligent and 
 very interesting services. Let nothing 
 be hurried or ill done. We have been 
 agreeably informed of the excellence 
 of this comedy." 
 
 The rehearsal began forthwith. 
 Burbage was nervous, Shakspere dis- 
 traught, Phyllis as pale as marble, 
 but oh, how lovely! Bravely she pro- 
 ceeded, taking with a good grace, the 
 criticisms of the Lord Chamberlain 
 and listening eagerly for the prompt- 
 ing of her lover. He had failed to 
 instruct her at the time set, but he now 
 supplied any forgotten word or phrase 
 with a skill enhanced by the ardor of 
 his passion. 
 
 When Phyllis reached the lines that 
 
 described Helena's happy girlhood, 
 
 her voice took on a tragic tone. Were 
 
 those days gone forever? It was as 
 
 223 

 
 though Will Shakspere had fondly de- 
 scribed her brother and herself : 
 
 "Both warbling of one song, both in 
 
 one key, 
 As if our hands, our sides, voices and 
 
 minds 
 Had been incorporate. So we grew 
 
 together 
 Like to a double cherry, seeming 
 
 parted, 
 
 Two lovely berries moulded on one 
 stem." 
 
 Looking toward the main door, 
 her eyes dilated suddenly, and she 
 stretched out her arms - 
 
 "Philip!" she called. 
 
 All turned. Entering the room was 
 her double, a youth clad in scarlet, and 
 followed by a large man in gray. 
 
 "Oh, Philip!" cried the sister, "are 
 you strong enough to be here! You 
 should not have left home!" Her words
 
 O'LrONDON 
 
 came incoherently from the fullness of 
 her heart. 
 
 But the other approached, silent, 
 pale, so like herself that it was a mar- 
 vel to all who saw. Stopping in front 
 of the stage, he pointed at her and 
 called, with the cry of an accusing 
 spirit, "Come down, you scarlet 
 woman!" 
 
 She stopped and brushed her hand 
 over her face as one who believes not 
 eyes and ears. 
 
 "Come down, you scarlet woman!" 
 the young man cried again. "Living 
 disgrace ! I am here not to ask speech 
 with you, not to ask what evil led you 
 astray, but to cast you off utterly! I 
 disclaim you to the world ! I say that 
 I do not believe the same mother bore 
 us two ! I come to return something of 
 yours! Something that should have 
 been the crown of your womanhood! 
 Something I would have guarded for 
 you with my life-blood, but which you 
 225
 
 PLAYERS 
 O' LONDON 
 
 have cast away the better to carry out 
 your shameful designs." 
 
 All looked at him in amazement as 
 he tore open the front of his cloak. 
 
 "He is raving mad!" whispered 
 Shakspere to Phyllis, but the girl stood 
 mute, stricken to the soul. 
 
 And the horror in her eyes brought 
 fear to the heart of her lover. 
 
 Then from his bosom, the youth 
 drew forth two heavy black ropes, sin- 
 uous and glistening like beautiful ser- 
 pents. 
 
 "Take them," he cried, "and since 
 they no longer belong upon your head, 
 tie them tight, tight about your neck! 
 You can find no better place for 
 them." There was a gasp of dismay 
 from one and all, as he flung the two 
 long, glossy braids of hair full in his 
 sister's face. 
 
 "Young fool!" exclaimed Shak- 
 spere, hastening toward Philip. "You 
 should be the last to do your sister such 
 226 

 
 O'L-OrSTDON 
 
 injustice! She has tried to serve you 
 by doing your accustomed work. She 
 has excelled you in all the difficult 
 arts of the player! There is no man 
 here who knew of her sex save I my- 
 self, and you have come and betrayed 
 all. I have lain outside her door each 
 night, guarding her like a watch-dog! 
 You know me, Philip! You believe 
 me!" 
 
 So persuasive, so convincing was he 
 that the youth stayed his onslaught. 
 He looked around at the faces of the 
 amazed spectators. There was gen- 
 uine surprise and concern depicted on 
 them. But no! Southampton, the 
 merry, light-hearted friend, showed 
 nothing but amusement. The satiri- 
 cal smile that played upon his lips was 
 not reassuring. In truth, the Earl was 
 more than a little amused. The 
 knowledge was his that he had escorted 
 a terrified little lady away from this 
 ardent defender; and at sight of him, 
 227
 
 Philip turned upon Shakspere with re- 
 newed violence. 
 
 "Nothing is sacred to you save your 
 art!" he cried, scornfully. 
 
 "You feel not as other men. What 
 is one poor maid more or less, so Will 
 Shakspere's plays go on?" 
 
 And now spoke Burbage: "This is 
 my fault! I carried the maid off by 
 force, and had I known those braids 
 were to be sacrificed, indeed I had 
 never done this thing! By the 
 Lord, Philip, I thought it was you! 
 But I should have known! Never did 
 you play with such passion and such 
 fire!" 
 
 "Doubtless, she is well taught by 
 this time," cried Philip, "but I care 
 not! What she is you have made her, 
 she is nothing to me." 
 
 "Peace, Philip!" commanded Shak- 
 spere angrily, but enough cruel words 
 had already been spoken; and with a 
 little despairing sob, Phyllis sank tc 
 228
 
 the ground. Human nature could en- 
 dure no more after the mental anguish 
 and physical effort of the past three 
 days. Shakspere started toward her, 
 involuntarily; Burbage and not a few 
 others were anxious to proffer assist- 
 ance ; but the Puritan, who had stood a 
 silent witness of the scene, was quicker 
 than they and waved them aside an- 
 grily. 
 
 "Stand back, you pack of wolves!" 
 he said. "There's not one among you 
 who is not ready to seize and devour 
 this dove that a loved hand has killed. 
 Philip, Philip, you must answer for 
 this ! Why did I let you come here to 
 murder this poor girl!" 
 
 The Puritan seemed almost beside 
 himself. He stood looking down on 
 Phyllis's hardly conscious form as 
 though not daring to touch her ; his lips 
 trembled and tears fell from his eyes. 
 She lay waiting for his final curse, like 
 a crimson rose, broken from the stem 
 
 229
 
 O'L/ONDON 
 
 and cast aside to wither on the ground. 
 Rage filled him against them one and 
 all that they should even look upon her 
 in this plight. Removing the gray 
 cape that hung from his shoulders, he 
 draped it tenderly about her and then 
 raised her to her feet. The volumi- 
 nous folds completely enveloped the 
 scarlet figure which was in a moment 
 transformed into the fairest and most 
 piteous of Puritan maidens. There 
 was something so womanlike nay, so 
 childlike about her that she won the 
 sympathy of the crowd in the very in- 
 stant, and a murmur of indignation 
 against Philip arose. 
 
 But here the master player took 
 himself in hand. His passion for 
 Phyllis was tempered by the long af- 
 fection he had borne her brother. The 
 worldly interests of all demanded that 
 the startling scene now being enacted 
 should give place to the rehearsal. At 
 almost any moment, Lord Hunsdon 
 230 

 
 FLAVORS 
 O' LONDON 
 
 might announce her Majesty and the 
 Court. What would be the excitement 
 if Revelation Reeves should express 
 himself before the laughing lords and 
 ladies of the retinue? If Phyllis were 
 discovered by the Queen? by Mistress 
 Vernon? by those gentlemen who were 
 already too well pleased with her? 
 Shaking off the spell that had seemed 
 to tie his tongue, he began to issue di- 
 rections and orders that should bring 
 an end to the chaos. 
 
 "Here, Philip enough of private 
 spleen put on Helena's robes our 
 play is about to begin ! You, Puritan, 
 that seem also an honest man, bear this 
 maid home and leave the brother in her 
 stead. Our Queen must be amused, 
 and come what may, Will Shakspere's 
 plays go on! Here, Sly, some cordial! 
 Philip is weak and sees all things 
 amiss! And while he revives, shall we 
 let his sister go without a word? No, 
 no! Our heartfelt thanks are due! Our 
 231
 
 thanks to Lady Juliet ! She is the first 
 to show us woman's rightful place 
 upon the English stage. When men 
 and women work together, we shall see 
 the perfection of our art, as we have 
 already seen it in her!" 
 
 The Puritan was leading Phyllis 
 toward the door. When they reached 
 it, she turned and looked back toward 
 the players. Her eyes were filled with 
 tears, she could not see, but she held 
 out her arms with a hopeless but ap- 
 pealing gesture toward the sound of 
 the beloved voice. And Shakspere, 
 turning, caught that mute appeal, and 
 suddenly his lips were dumb. For a 
 moment, the two retreating figures 
 were framed in glowing sunlight. 
 Phyllis faltered on the step, and the 
 Puritan's arms were about her when 
 the closing door shut out the golden 
 day. 
 
 To the master player the great hall 
 232
 
 c 
 
 was deserted. The many moving fig- 
 ures were but shadows and phantoms. 
 Happiness, a very dear reality, had 
 passed by, and he must forever watch 
 joy from far. 
 
 233 
 
 J
 
 ROM the difficulties that 
 beset the author in trac- 
 ing further the life of the 
 player maid, it seems prob- 
 able that there ceased to be 
 a Mistress Phyllis soon after 
 she passed out from the portals of 
 Whitehall with the Puritan. If 
 the truth of such a surmise be grant- 
 ed, we may associate her later life with 
 that of the lovely Philomela, a married 
 woman whose beauty formed the 
 theme of more than one poet's praise, 
 and whose virtue was especially ex- 
 tolled by the poet Shakspere. 
 
 Though her personal history is in- 
 definite and uncertain, the result of her 
 234 

 
 adventure is not so. The appearance 
 of women on the English stage grad- 
 ually followed her escapade. Only a 
 few weeks after the players had left 
 Whitehall, the Queen's maids of honor 
 took part in one of the masques or 
 playlets of the Court. It is authentic- 
 ally reported that the witty Eliz- 
 abeth felt much amusement at the sight 
 of Mistress Vernon in the role of 
 Charity, and that she commented upon 
 the peculiar fitness with which that 
 lady assumed a part that covered a 
 multitude of sins. 
 
 Concerning the charming South- 
 ampton, we must note the fact that 
 though he was induced to follow Essex 
 to the wars in Spain, his good heart 
 brought him back to marry the lady 
 who so dearly loved him and who had 
 sacrificed so much for him. As he had 
 anticipated, his generous and courage- 
 ous action caused him to be confined 
 235
 
 for a year in the Tower, and lost him 
 forever the friendship of his sovereign. 
 And now a final word as to our poet, 
 player and man among men. If we 
 have shown in this simple tale that he 
 was one of those world favorites, loved 
 in his own time as well as by posterity 
 for all time, then we come to the end 
 of our story content, though a little 
 sorry to part from this "goodly com- 
 panie." 
 
 Cbe en* 
 
 236