She was up again directly, and, inspired by this superb success, ran in and presently reappeared as Lady Macbeth with Mrs. Wilkins’s scarlet shawl for royal robes, and the leafy chaplet of the morning for a crown. She took the stage with some difficulty, for the unevenness of the turf impaired the majesty of her tragic stride, and fixing her eyes on an invisible Thane (who cut his part shamefully, and spoke in the gruffest of gruff voices) she gave them the dagger scene. David as the orchestra, had been performing a drum solo on the back of a chair with two of the corn-cobs Victoria had been building houses with; but, when Lady Macbeth said, “Give me the daggers,” Christie plucked the cobs suddenly from his hands, looking so fiercely scornful, and lowering upon him so wrathfully with her corked brows that he ejaculated an involuntary, “Bless me!” as he stepped back quite daunted. Being in the spirit of her part, Christie closed with the sleep-walking scene, using the table-cloth again, while a towel composed the tragic nightcap of her ladyship. This was an imitation, and having a fine model and being a good mimic, she did well; for the children sat staring with round eyes, the gentlemen watched the woful face and gestures intently, and Mrs. Wilkins took a long breath at the end, exclaiming: “I never did see the beat of that for gastliness! My sister Clarissy used to walk in her sleep, but she warn’t half so kind of dreadful.” “If she had had the murder of a few friends on her conscience, I dare say she would have been,” said Christie, going in to make herself tidy. “Well, how do you like her as an actress?” asked Mr. Power of David, who stood looking, as if he still saw and heard the haunted lady. “Very much; but better as a woman. I’d no idea she had it in her,” answered David, in a wonder-stricken tone. “Plenty of tragedy and comedy in all of us,” began Mr. Power; but David said hastily: “Yes, but few of us have passion and imagination enough to act Shakspeare in that way.” “Very true: Christie herself could not give a whole character in that style, and would not think of trying.” “I think she could; and I’d like to see her try it,” said David, much impressed by the dramatic ability which Christie’s usual quietude had most effectually hidden. He was still thinking about it, when she came out again. Mr. Power beckoned to her; saying, as she came and stood before him, flushed and kindled with her efforts: “Now, you must give me a bit from the ‘Merchant of Venice.’ Portia is a favorite character of mine, and I want to see if you can do any thing with it.”