Many a day had gone by since my longing heart had fluttered with lightness. And now it was beating high with an exultant hope; but its time of joy was short. The memory of a deep voice weighted it with sadness--a voice and the words: "Any man can make a promise, but sometimes it requires a _gentleman_ to break one." As we stood in the bow of the boat and gazed toward the lights on the wharf at Bolanyo, the Senator put his hand upon my arm and said: "My boy, that fellow Maffet is a shrewd fellow, from shrewd Yankee stock, and he would have cheated you out of your teeth if I hadn't come along. Yes, Sir, out of your teeth." CHAPTER XIX. BURN THE JUNIPER. In the enthusiasm of my dramatic occupation the figures forming in my mind had draped, as with a merciful curtain, the picture in my heart--had hidden the eyes. But now that the figures were sent away the curtain, too, was gone, and the image was bold with a new vividness. I resorted to numerous devices, walking, rowing, reading, but the picture was always before me, thrown from within; and at night, alone in my room, I could see in its vibrations the beating of my pulse. The day of the scramble for office passed by, and the Senator and his son-in-law were elected; but Estell's majority was so small that his opponent declared that a fraud had been practiced, and gave warning that he would take his case to the courts. I met the Senator nearly every day, and sometimes we parted in embarrassment, when it would have seemed so natural for him to say "Come out to see me." But he did not say it; and out of his silence there came the information that his daughter was at home. At last, in October, the theatrical season arrived, with a third-rate company to present "Virginius." I employed the columns of Petticord's newspaper, against the Senator's advice, had the town and a large part of the county well "papered," and when the opening night came round the house was crowded. I put young Elkin into the box office, and he must have been born for the place, for, although acquainted with almost every man, woman and child in the town, he recognized no one at the window. Nervously I watched the people coming in, my gaze leaping from face to face. I turned away to attend to something, and when I came back and looked at the house I knew that _she_ was there, though I did not see her. The curtain went up and the play proceeded. On a sudden someone well in front cried out "Burn the juniper!" And then arose the yell, "Throw him out!" Several officers ran forward, and presently, in the midst of great confusion, they came back, almost dragging old Mason, the pilot, and Joe Vark, the shoemaker. Vark was the real offender, it appeared, and Mason was snatched up as an accessory. I went out with them, pleading with the officers not to use them roughly; and when we reached the pavement I demanded their release. The officers, glad enough to go back to the play, turned the culprits over to me. Both were drunk.