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His hands half closed, shook in his face, then caught at Neilson's shoulders. "You don't mean she's run away?" "Don't be a fool. Not run away abducted. The prospector I told you about Darby was the old man's partner. He's paying us back. Heaven only knows what the girl's fate will be I don't dare to think of it. Ray, I wish to God I had died before I ever saw this day!" Ray stared blankly.
Neilson's merits have been recognised by many eminent bodies by the Institution of Civil Engineers, the Chemical Society, and others the last honour conferred on him being his election as a Member of the Royal Society in 1846.
He should also read A. C. Bradley's chapter on "Poetry for its Own Sake" in the Oxford Lectures on Poetry, Neilson's Essentials of Poetry, Stedman's Nature and Elements of Poetry, as well as the classic "Defences" of Poetry by Philip Sidney, Shelley, Leigh Hunt and George E. Woodberry.
It was the exquisite felicity of Adelaide Neilson's acting of Juliet that she glided into harmony with that tragical undertone, and, with seemingly a perfect unconsciousness of it whether prattling to the old nurse, or moving, sweetly grave and softly demure, through the stately figures of the minuet was already marked off from among the living, already overshadowed by a terrible fate, already alone in the bleak loneliness of the broken heart.
Promptly at the suggested hour on the day after the operetta, Arkwright rang Billy Neilson's doorbell. Promptly, too, Billy herself came into the living-room to greet him. Billy was in white to-day a soft, creamy white wool with a touch of black velvet at her throat and in her hair.
We'll try to get some men in Snowy Gulch to come with us to join in the hunt and we'll hire every pack horse in the country. Get busy, and get busy quick." Reluctant to leave his gold, yet seeing the truth in Neilson's words, Ray hastened to his cabin to get such few supplies as would be needed for the day's march into Snowy Gulch.
If clearly to possess a high purpose, to follow it directly, to accomplish it thoroughly, to adorn it with every grace, to conceal every vestige of its art, and to cast over the art that glamour of poetry which ennobles while it charms, and while it dazzles also endears, if this is greatness in acting, then was Adelaide Neilson's Juliet a great embodiment. It never will be forgotten.
It was his namesake, Walter Neilson's boy, that he had come to meet; a homesick, lonely orphan who had appealed to him to him, out of all the world. Long years ago in his own arms there had been laid a tiny bundle of flannel holding a precious little red, puckered face.
Neilson, smoking a cigar, leaned back in his chair and looked vacantly at the ring of smoke which floated in the still air. A smile played on his lips, but his eyes were grave. Then he looked at the captain. There was in his gross obesity something extraordinarily repellent. He had the plethoric self-satisfaction of the very fat. It was an outrage. It set Neilson's nerves on edge.
He approached the long, sloping bank on which stood Neilson's cabin; and he suddenly drew up short at the sight of a light, staunch canoe on the open water. It was a curious fact that he noticed the craft itself before ever he glanced at its occupant. A thrill of excitement passed over him.
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