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Updated: June 17, 2025
But Zelma, looking through the transfiguring atmosphere of loyalty, beheld the royal group encompassed by all the ideal splendor and sacredness of majesty; over their very commonplace heads towered the airy crowns of a hundred regal ancestors, piled round on round, and glimmering away into the clouds. Ere she turned her fascinated eyes away from the august sight, her cue was given.
"I should certainly tread my own ways on the boards, as elsewhere," replied Zelma, quietly, "move and act from the central force, the instinct and inspiration of Nature, letting the passion of my part work itself out in its own gestures, postures, looks, and tones, falling short of, or going beyond, mere stage-traditions.
Is there any purgatory which does not grow lovely as you remember it? Would not a man be hanged twice, if he could? It was late when Zelma Burleigh returned to the Grange. As she stole softly into the hall, she startled an Italian greyhound, which was lying asleep on a mat near the door.
"Ay, father!" she cried, "that we would! Zelma and I have never seen any players, save the tumblers over at the Hall, on Sir Harry's birthday, and we are in sad need of a little pleasuring." "Who spoke to you, or of you, Mistress Bessie?" replied the Squire, playfully. "And what is all your useless, chattering life but pleasuring?
Zelma smiled at her own alarm, and read on, till she reached the tender adjuration, "Romeo, doff thy name; And for thy name, which is no part of thee, Take all myself!" when, suddenly, a fragrant shower of hawthorn-blossoms fell upon the page before her, and the next instant there lightly vaulted over the hedge at her side the hero of her secret thoughts, the young player, Lawrence Bury!
Nobly self-forgetful always, Zelma, in the first hour of success, feeling, in spite of herself, the pettiness and egoism of her husband's nature, with a sense of humiliation in which it seemed her very soul blushed, offered to renounce forever the career on which she had just entered. Mr.
With a shrill, frenzied shriek, Zelma sprang back and stood for a moment shuddering and crouching in a mute agony of fear. Then she burst into wild cries of grief and passionate entreaty, stretching her tremulous hands into the void air, in piteous imploring. "She has gone mad!
Zelma opened her superb eyes in amazement, and her cheek kindled with a little flush of displeasure; yet she answered playfully, "What! would you resolve 'the new star of the drama' into nebulousness and nothingness again? Remember my art, sweet Coz; I am a priestess sworn to its altar."
She dashed into the crude and sketchy character bold strokes of Nature and illuminative gleams of genius, all her own. Mr. Bury, as Osmyn, was cold and unsympathetic, avoided the eye of Zara, and was even more tender than was "set down in the book" to Almeria. "How well he acts his part!" said to herself the generous Zelma.
"Sometimes, when I have finished my work and they let me, I amuse myself, too." "How do you amuse yourself?" "In the best way I can. They let me alone; but I have not many playthings. Ponine and Zelma will not let me play with their dolls. I have only a little lead sword, no longer than that." The child held up her tiny finger. "And it will not cut?"
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