"Don’t interrupt the story, my dear; for we are at the footlights, and the gallery is supposed to be anxious to hear it. I declare I have always loved the top gallery. There you find critics who are attentive, watchful, who are ready to applaud when they’re pleased, and to hiss when they’re not. Well, there was one poor lad, out of all my admirers, got to be acquainted with our little household, and he and I became—friends. He was a wood-engraver, or something like that, only a little older than myself—long fair hair, a boyish face, gentleness like a girl about him; and nothing would do but that I should engage to be his wife, and he was to be a great artist and do wonders for my sake." The hard look on the young girl’s face had died away now, and there was a dreaminess in her eyes. "I did promise; and for about two years we were a couple of the maddest young fools in the world—I begging him to make haste, and get money, and marry me—he full of audacious schemes, and as cheerful as a lark in the certainty of marrying me. He tried painting pictures; then he began scene-painting, and succeeded so well that he at last got an engagement in a London theatre, and nearly broke his heart when he went away there to make money for both of us." The old woman heaved a gentle sigh. "Whenever I’m very sad, all the wretchedness of that first parting of my life comes over me, and I see the wet streets of Bristol, and the shining lamps, and his piteous face, though he tried to be very brave over it, and cheer me up. I felt like a stone, and didn’t know what was going on; I only wished that I could get away into a corner and cry myself dead. Very well, he went, and I remained in Bristol. I needn’t tell you how it came about—how I was a little tired of waiting, and we had a quarrel, and, in short, I married a gentleman who had been very kind and attentive to me. He was over thirty, and had plenty of money, for he was a merchant in Bristol, and his father was an old man who had made a fine big fortune in Jamaica. He was very kind to me, in his way, and for a year or two we lived very well together; but I knew that he thought twenty times of his business for once he thought of me. And what was I thinking of? Ah, Miss Annie, don’t consider me very wicked if I tell you, that from the hour in which I was married there never passed a single day in which I did not think of the _other one_." "Poor mother!" said the girl.