“Are you willing to take part in this act of murder--murder?” cried Mrs. Siddons, in a low voice that caused the flesh of at least two of her audience to creep. “Are you blind? Can 't you see the world pointing at you as I point at you, and call you murderers?” She stood before them with her eyes half closed, her right hand pointing to each of them in turn as she prolonged the word, suggesting a thousand voices whispering “murderers!” There was a long pause, during which the spell-bound youths, their jaws fallen, stared at that terrible figure--the awful form of the Muse of Tragedy. Drops of perspiration stood on the forehead of young Moriarty. Blake himself gave a gasp. “Have you no compassion?” Mrs. Sid-dons continued, but in another tone--a tone of such pathos as no human being could hear unmoved. Clasping her hands, she cried: “My poor husband! What harm has he done? Is he to be dragged from these arms--these arms that have cherished him with all the devotion that a too-loving wife can offer? Is he to be dragged away from this true heart to be butchered? Sirs, we have children--tender little blossoms. Oh, cannot you hear their cries? Listen, listen--the wailing of the babes over the mangled body of their father.” Surely the sound of children's sobbing went around the room. One of the young men dropped into a chair and burst into tears. Blake's lips were quivering, as the streaming eyes of the woman were turned upon him. “For heaven's sake, madam!” he faltered--“for heaven's sake--oh, my God! what have we done?--what have we done? Worse than Herod! the innocent children!--I hear them--I hear them! Oh, God forgive us! God forgive us for this cruel joke.” He broke down utterly. The room now was certainly filled with wild sobbing and the sound of convulsive weeping. [Illustration: 0217] For several minutes the three emotional Irishmen sat weeping. They were in the power of the woman, who, at the confession of Blake, had become perfectly self-possessed in a moment. She stood watching them, a scornful smile upon her lips. She knew that the magic which she had at her command could enchain them so long as she wished. She was merciful, however. “If you consider your jest sufficiently successful, gentlemen,” said she, “perhaps you will oblige me by withdrawing. I have letters to write.” The spell that she had cast around them was withdrawn. Blake sprang to his feet and drew his handkerchief across his eyes. “Mrs. Siddons--madam,” said he, “we have behaved like fools--nay, worse, like scoundrels. We are not bold enough to ask your pardon, madam; but believe me, we feel deeply humiliated. You may forgive us, but we shall never forgive ourselves. Madam, you are the greatest actress in the world, and you may expect the finest benefit ever given to an actress in this city.”