Page:The Strand Magazine (Volume 3).djvu/194

 "Harry, old fellow," one said, lifting a hand out of bed with a last strength.

"Clem! Clem!" the other cried, taking the proffered hand, and putting the other arm around his neck, and lifting his head up. Then the two men kissed each other.

"Harry, old boy! I'm dying; I know it. I shall have missed to-night, shan't I? but I've found you. Come nearer to me and brother, Clem listen! Harry, I've been cruel to you—you forgive me?"

The other clasped his hand.

"No, no; say it! Say, 'I forgive you!

"Clem, my brother; I forgive you, Clem," Henry Walford said, through his tears.

"I shan't be able to talk much, so I must say it quickly. A little water—just wet my lips. Thank you—thank you, old fellow. Now, listen earnestly to me. Come very near. Harry, your chance has come at last—and to-night. You can take it in my stead, for I shan't be here. You know the part? Ah! I thought so—you have played it many times. But mine—mine is a daring plot. There is my fur coat on the back of that chair—put it on. Yes; never mind about letting go my hand—put it on, Harry."

Henry Walford did so.

"Yes—yes—it is myself. Go down to the theatre to-night. Walk in at the stage door without saying a word. They will touch their hats to you and let you pass. Go to my room—it is the first on the left. Make-up—dress—everything is there. Be in readiness—the orchestra will commence, the curtain will rise, and—and—as—you—step on to the stage, the house will ring with applause. Your chance—has—come—at—last. Thank God—I—your brother, Clem—can give it to you. Harry—Harry, old fellow—Harry—hold my hand—I'm—good-bye—put your arms—round me—Harry—Harry—"

The man fell back in his brother's arms—dead!

That night the theatre was packed. The stage-door keeper touched his hat to the great actor as he passed through without a word. The prompter's bell rang and the curtain rose. Hamlet entered, and the noise was deafening, and when the curtain fell, he who played the Prince was called again and again. On the morrow the newspapers devoted column after column in eulogising a remarkable performance, "one that would live in the memory of all who had seen it." Then, when the truth came out, the excitement and curiosity were increased twofold. Clement Walford was ever remembered, Henry Walford from that night was never forgotten. His chance at the stage had come at last.