The play went on, and Robert was still absorbed in the majestic lines.  At the next intermission there was much movement in the audience.  People walked about, old acquaintances spoke and strangers were introduced to one another.  Robert looked sharply for St. Luc, but there was no trace of him.  Presently Mr. Hardy was introducing him to a heavy man, dressed very richly, and obviously full of pride.

“Mynheer Van Zoon,” he said, “this is young Robert Lennox.  He has been for years in the care of David Willet, whom you have met in other and different times.  Robert, Mynheer Van Zoon is one of our greatest merchants, and one of my most active rivals.”

Robert was about to extend his hand, but noticing that Mynheer Van Zoon did not offer his he withheld his own.  The merchant’s face, in truth, had turned to deeper red than usual, and his eyes lowered.  He was a few years older than Hardy, somewhat stouter, and his heavy strong features showed a tinge of cruelty.  The impression that he made upon Robert was distinctly unfavorable.

“Yes, I have met Mr. Willet before,” said Van Zoon, “but so many years have passed that I did not know whether he was still living.  I can say the same about young Mr. Lennox.”

“Oh, they live hazardous lives, but when one is skilled in meeting peril life is not snuffed out so easily,” rejoined Mr. Hardy who seemed to be speaking from some hidden motive.  “They’ve returned to civilization, and I think and trust, Adrian, that we’ll hear more of them than for some years past.  They’re especial friends of mine, and I shall do the best I can for them, even though my mercantile rivalry with you absorbs, of necessity, so much of my energy.”

Van Zoon smiled sourly, and then Robert liked him less than ever.

“The times are full of danger,” he said, “and one must watch to keep his own.”

He bowed, and turned to other acquaintances, evidently relieved at parting with them.

“He does not improve with age,” said Willet thoughtfully.

Robert was about to ask questions concerning this Adrian Van Zoon, who seemed uneasy in their presence, but once more he restrained himself, his intuition telling him as before that neither Willet nor Master Hardy would answer them.

The play moved on towards its dramatic close and Robert was back in the world of passion and tragedy, of fancy and poetry.  Van Zoon was forgotten, St. Luc faded quite away, and he was not conscious of the presence of Tayoga, or of Grosvenor, or of any of his friends.  Shakespeare’s Richard was wholly the humpbacked villain to him, and when he met his fate on Bosworth Field he rejoiced greatly.  As the curtain went down for the last time he saw that Tayoga, too, was moved.

“The English king was a wicked man,” he said, “but he died like a great chief.”