Guy thought that he would like it, and it was not till they were sitting in the stalls that it struck his friend that Hamlet was not calculated to divert his mind from the subject that engrossed it. Still, it must be familiar to him. But Cuthbert failed to realise that, though Guy believed himself to have "read Shakespeare," it is possible for a country-bred youth, brought up in an unliterary and non-play-going family, to bring an extremely fresh interest to bear on our great dramatist, and though Guy was not quite in the condition of the lady who, in the middle of the murder scene in Macbeth, observed tearfully to her friend, "Oh dear, I am afraid this cannot end well!" he was but dimly prepared for what he was going to see. He gave an odd little laugh as the ghost crossed the stage, but watched intently and quietly. "What do you think of it?" said Cuthbert, in a pause. "He's not so bad, is he?" "He says some very remarkable things," said Guy, seriously. "Things that seem true; but I never thought of them. Don't you suppose the ghost was _there_, watching for him to act, often though he couldn't see him?" "Well, really," said Cuthbert; "I do think you have made a new remark on Hamlet. I never heard that suggestion. We can go, you know, if you're bored, any time." "No," said Guy; "I like it." Guy had the faculty of calling up distinct mental pictures. It was the method by which he thought, and the moving scene stamped itself, as plays sometimes will, both on his eyes and on his memory. When they came out into the daylight he felt bewildered as if the world outside was the unreal one. "The ghost didn't do much good," he said; while Cuthbert, wishing he had had more forethought, talked lightly and critically about the acting, concerning which Guy was not critical at all. When they set off on their night journey, Guy grew quiet, and presently fell asleep. He looked tired, and the heavy eyelashes and the wistfulness, which, in sleep, his mouth seemed to share, made him seem younger than usual, and more in need of help. Suddenly he moved and started, while a look of shrinking terror came into his face. Cuthbert roused him, and he opened his eyes and caught his breath. "Dreaming of the play?" said Cuthbert, lightly. "No," said Guy. He leant back in his corner, and seemed slowly to master himself, for presently he gave a little smile, and said, "I'm all right, thank you." Cuthbert thought that he could see exactly what the sort of thing was now, and how it came about. Presently Guy began to talk about Hamlet, asking many well-worn questions, and a few more unexpected ones. Cuthbert, who had been working up all the criticisms for a set of lectures, felt as he answered him rather like an orthodox, but personally inexperienced professor of religion in the presence of an earnest young inquirer.