'"
And Darrel rejoined, his own rich tone touching the note of
melancholy in the other:--
"'There's no offence, my lord.'"
"'What Horatio is this?" the stranger inquired, offering his hand.
"A player?"
"Ay, as are all men an' women," said Darrel, quickly. "But I, sor,
have only a poor part. Had I thy lines an' makeup, I'd win
applause."
The newcomers sat down, the man who had spoken removing his hat.
Curly locks of dark hair, with now a sprinkle of silver in them,
fell upon his brows. He had large brown eyes, a mouth firm and
well modelled, a nose slightly aquiline, and wore a small, dark
imperial--a mere tuft under his lip.
"Well, Colonel, you have paid me a graceful compliment," said he.
"Nay, man, do not mistake me rank," said Darrel.
"Indeed--what is it?"
"Friend," he answered, quickly. "In good company there's no higher
rank. But if ye think me unworthy, I'll be content with 'Mister.'"
"My friend, forgive me," said the stranger, approaching Darrel.
"Murder and envy and revenge and all evil are in my part, but no
impertinence."
"I know thy rank, sor. Thou art a gentleman," said Darrel. "I've
seen thee 'every inch a king.'"
Darrel spoke to the second period in that passage of Lear, the
majesty and despair of the old king in voice and gesture.
Pages:
160
161
162
163
164
165
166
167
168
169
170
171
172
173
174
175
176
177
178
179
180
181
182
183
184