CHAPTER VI.
But far from being better the following morning, Denis was much worse.
Charles, who had sat up most of the night with him, and who came down to breakfast more cool and indifferent than ever, at once extinguished any hope that still remained that he would be able to take his part that night.
Great was the consternation of the whole party.

A vague feeling of resentment against Denis prevailed among the womankind, who, having all preserved their own healths intact for the occasion (and each by her own account was a chronic invalid), felt it was extremely inconsiderate, not to say indelicate, of "a great man like him" to spoil everything by being laid up at the wrong moment.
But what was to be done?
Denis was ill, and without Denis the play could not proceed.

Must the whole thing be given up?
There was a general chorus of lamentation.
"I see no alternative," said Charles, "unless some Curtius will leap into the gulf, and go through the piece reading the part, and that is always a failure at the best of times." At that moment I had an idea; it broke upon me like a flash of lightning: _Valentine Carr_! I had seen him act the very part Denis was to have taken, in the theatricals on the steamer.

How wonderfully fortunate that it should have occurred to me! I told Charles that I had a friend who had acted that part only the week before.
"_You!_" cried Charles, losing all his customary apathy--"you don't say so! Great heavens, where is he?
Out with him! Where is he at this moment?
England, Ireland, Scotland, or Wales?
Where is this treasure concealed ?" "Oh, Colonel Middleton! Oh, how delightful!" cried a number of gentle voices; and I was instantly surrounded, and all manner of questions put to me.

Would he come?
Was he tall?
And oh! _had_ he a beard?
He had not a beard, had he?
because it would not do for the part.