“It is not in the bond, gentlemen,” said he.  “The young lady is unwilling to unveil, and we must not compel her.”

“Face! face!” was the only answer, and oranges from up stairs flew about his head and struck upon the table,—­an omen only fearful from what it prophesied.  Then there was such a row for five minutes as I hope I may never see or hear again.  People kept their places fortunately, under a vague impression that they should forfeit some magic rights if they left those numbered seats.  But when, for a moment, a file of policemen appeared in the orchestra, a whole volley of cyclopaedias fell like rain upon their chief, with a renewed cry of “Face! face!”

At this juncture, with a good deal of knowledge of popular feeling, Mr. A——­ led forward his child again.  Frightened to death the poor thing was, and crying; he tied his handkerchief round her eyes hastily, and took her to the red box.  For a minute the house was hushed.  A cry of “Down! down!” and every one took his place as the child gave the red ticket to her father.  He read it as before, “No. 3,671!” I heard the words as if he did not speak them.  All excited by the delay and the row, by the injustice to the stranger and the personal injustice of everybody to me, I did not know, for a dozen seconds, that every one was looking towards our side of the house, nor was it till my next neighbor with the watch said, “Go, you fool,” that I was aware that 3,671 was I!  Even then, as I stepped down the passage and up the steps, my only feeling was, that I should get out of this horrid trap, and possibly find Miss Jones lingering near the Astor,—­not by any means that I was invited to take a check for $5,000.

There was not much cheering.  Women never mean to cheer, of course.  The men had cheered the green ticket, but they were mad with the red one.  I gave up my ticket, signed my receipt, and took my check, shook hands with Mr. A——­ and Mr. Burrham, and turned to bow to the mob,—­for mob I must call it now.  But the cheers died away.  A few people tried to go out perhaps, but there was nothing now to retain any in their seats as before, and the generality rose, pressed down the passages, and howled, “Face! face!” I thought for a moment that I ought to say something, but they would not hear me, and, after a moment’s pause, my passion to depart overwhelmed me.  I muttered some apology to the gentlemen, and left the stage by the stage door.

I had forgotten that to Castle Garden there can be no back entrance.  I came to door after door, which were all locked.  It was growing dark.  Evidently the sun was set, and I knew the library door would be shut at sunset.  The passages were very obscure.  All around me rang this horrid yell of the mob, in which all that I could discern was the cry, “Face, face!” At last, as I groped round, I came to a practicable door.  I entered a room where the western sunset glare dazzled me.  I was not alone.  The veiled lady in black was there.  But the instant she saw me she sprang towards me, flung herself into my arms, and cried:—­