"Good Lord, child!" said Mr. Daly, "your face is as long as my arm! Don't anticipate evil—take the good the gods send you. You are making a hit and you're losing all the pleasure of it. I'm ashamed of you!"

But he wrung my fingers hard, even as he spoke, and I knew that his words were, what the boys call a "bluff."

Then the curtain was rising. The cathedral scene won a round of applause, and kneeling at the altar, as children say, "I scringed" at the sound. Then after a little I was coming down the stage and the audience, recognizing Madeline in the nun, applauded long and heartily, and I fairly groaned aloud. After that the act proceeded really with stately dignity, but to my terrified eyes it seemed indecent haste; and as I fell into line with the Church procession of sisters, of novices, of priests and acolytes, I felt myself a morsel in a kaleidoscopic picture of bright colors, the churchly purple and its red and white, the brilliant gowns of the women of fashion, the golden organ-pipes, the candles burning star-like upon the altar, the massed flowers, and over all, giving a touch of floating unreality to everything, the clouds of incense.

Then suddenly, out of the bluish haze, there gleamed the white, set face, for love of which I was to sacrifice my very soul! The scene was on, swift, passionate, and furious, and almost before I could realize it, the dreadful words had been spoken—and with my foot upon the cross, I stood in a silence the like of which I had never known before! I had not fallen—stricken absolutely motionless with terror I stood—waiting.

In that crowded building even breathing seemed suspended. There reigned a silence, like to death itself! It was awful! Then without changing my attitude by the movement of a finger, I pitched forward, falling heavily at the feet of the dismayed lover and the indignant priest. And suddenly, sharply as by a volley of musketry, the silence was broken by applause. Yes, actually by applause, and beneath its noise I heard a voice behind me gasp: "Well, I'll be blest!"

When all was ended, and after the final courtesies had been extended and gratefully accepted, there was an outburst of excited comment, and more than one experienced actor declared that never again would they even try to anticipate the conduct of an audience. Old Mr. Fisher told Mr. Daly he had felt the rising hiss and he was positive it was regard for the woman that had restrained its expression.

Mr. Daly patted the old gentleman on the shoulder and answered: "Perhaps—perhaps! but if for her sake the public has swallowed that scene one night, the public have got to go on swallowing it every night—and that's the important point for us."

Very shamefacedly I apologized for not falling at the proper time, and as I hurriedly promised to do so the next night, to my surprise Mr. Daly stopped me with a quick: "No! no! change nothing! I was in front, and that pause, staring straight up into heaven, was tremendously effective. It was as if God offered you a moment to repent in—then struck you down! Change nothing, and to-morrow you shall have your heart's desire."

I gazed at him in amazement. He laughed a bit maliciously and said: "Old heat-registers and things carry voices. I hear many things. I have heard, for instance, about a man named Dovey and a wonderful toy terrier that weighs by ounces. I wouldn't open my eyes any wider, if I were you; they might stay that way. Well, will you show me the way to Dovey's by eleven to-morrow?"

"But," I faltered, "I'm afraid of the price——"