There was the usual noisy throng of coaches, chairs, people afoot, lackeys, chair-men, boys, and such, in front of the playhouse when we arrived, and though we scanned all faces on whom the light fell, we had our wonted disappointment regarding that of Captain Falconer. We made our way to the pit, and passed the time till the bell and the chorus "Hats off!" signalled the rising of the green curtain, in watching the chattering assemblage that was every moment swelled from the doors; but neither among the lace-ruffled bucks and macaronis who chaffed with the painted and powdered ladies in the boxes, nor among those dashing gentry who ogled the same towering-haired ladies from the benches around us in the pit, did I perceive the elegant and easy captain. We therefore fell back upon the pleasure to be expected from the play itself, and when the curtain rose, I, for one, was resigned to the absence of him we had come partly in quest of. No sooner had Miss Warren come upon the stage, in her favourite part of Fanny in "The Clandestine Marriage," revived for the occasion, than I knew her as Madge Faringfield. I bent forward, with staring eyes and gaping mouth; if I uttered any exclamation it was drowned in the sound of the hand-clapping that greeted her. While she curtseyed and pleasantly smiled, in response to this welcome, I turned abruptly to Phil, my eyes betokening my recognition. He nodded, without a word or any other movement, and continued to look at her, his face wearing a half-smiling expression of gentle gladness. I knew, from my old acquaintance with him, that he was under so great emotion that he dared not speak. It was, indeed, a cessation of secret anxiety to him, a joy such as only a constant lover can understand, to know that she was alive, well, with means of livelihood, and beautiful as ever. Though she was now thirty-one, she looked, on the stage, not a day older than upon that sad night when he had thrown her from him, six years and more before--nay, than upon that day well-nigh eleven years before, when he had bade her farewell to go upon his first campaign. She was still as slender, still had the same girlish air and manner. Till the curtain fell upon the act, we sat without audible remark, delighting our eyes with her looks, our ears with her voice, our hearts (and paining them at the same time) with the memories her every movement, every accent, called up. "How shall we see her?" were Phil's first words at the end of the act. "We may be allowed to send our names, and see her in the greenroom," said I. "Or perhaps you know somebody who can take us there without any preliminaries." "Nay," returned Philip, after a moment's thought, "there will be other people there. I shouldn't like strangers to see--you understand. We shall wait till the play is over, and then go to the door where the players come out. 'Twill take her some time to dress for going home--we can't miss her that way."