Act III. Would the other two be as effective?

I went up to the stage; I was to be discovered lying on a lounge. Miss Davenport, magnificently handsome in person and gown, beside me; the others at the gambling-table. As she took my hand she gave a sharp little cry: "Heavens!" she said, "you might be dead, you are like ice!" She touched my forehead, asking, "Are you ill? Why, your head is burning, hot! hot! hot! Mr. Daly, just touch her hands and head!"

He looked down on me in silence; two pairs of frightened eyes met; he gave a groan; threw out his hands helplessly; stepped off the stage, and signaled the curtain up on what was to make or break the play--and he knew no more what to expect than did one of the ushers out in front.

Under cover of the music and the applause accompanying the curtain's rise, I caught myself muttering, vaguely: "The power and the glory--the power and the glory," and knew that involuntarily I was reaching out for the old staff on which I had leaned so many times before.

The scene was on--the laughing cynicism of the _Baroness_--the chatter of the players--then, at last, _George_ and _Cora_ were alone!

My terror had slipped from me like a garment, I was in the play once more; save for just one awful moment! _George_ had torn the veil from my disfigured face, and, casting in my teeth the accusation: "You are mad!" had left me there alone, standing, stunned by the word! That was the moment of actual dethronement of reason, and, as I slowly, stupidly turned my eyes, I saw Mr. Daly's white face thrust forward eagerly. His gray eyes wide and glowing, his thin hand tightly grasping the lapel of his coat, his whole being expressing the very anguish of anxiety!

One moment I felt I was lost! I had been dragged out of the play at the crucial moment! I clasped my hands across my eyes: "The kingdom and the power!" I groaned--I faced the other way! The low, eerie music caught my attention and awakened my imagination, in another second I was as mad as a March hare. The first time the low, gibbering laugh swelled into the wild, long-sustained shrieking _ha! ha!_ a voice said, low and clear: "Oh, dear God!"

Yet I who had heard the genuine laugh at the mad-house knew this to be but a poor, tame, soulless thing, compared to that Hecate-like distillation--the very essence of madness, that ran through that real gibber of laughter.

Yet it was enough. At the end there came to me one of those moments God grants now and then as a reward for long thirst, way-weariness, and heart-sickness patiently borne! One of those foolishly divine moments you stand with the gods and, like them, are young and fair and powerful! Your very nerves thrill harmonious, like harp-strings attune--your blood courses like quicksilver for swiftness, like wine for warmth, and on that fair peak of Triumph, where one tarries but by moments, there is no knowledge of sin or suffering, of death or hate; there is only sunshine, the sunshine of success! love for all those creatures who turn smiling faces on you, who hold their hands to you with joyous cries!

There is no question of deserts, of qualifications! No analysis, no criticism then--they follow later! That is just a moment of delicious madness; and to distinguish it from other frenzies it is called--a Dramatic Triumph!