The fell spirit of murder had entered the jealous girl’s heart!
The curtain rose again on the fourth act, and although the introduction of horses on the stage was a very difficult feat, still it was quite well done. The lovers died, gracefully, in each other’s arms, and the widowed bride clung fondly to the attentive best man. In the vernacular of one of the troupe, the play had been a “howling success.” The company was called back to receive the plaudits of the spectators, and the audience rose at the leading lady with enthusiasm, pelting the little beauty with flowers and jewels.
But one man far back in the theater, hurried away with his hat before his face.
“I hope no one has recognized me, for I really am not fit to join my people to-night. I must get away and collect my thoughts,” muttered Charley Bonair.
CHAPTER XII.
A PHANTOM AT DAWN.
“An Indian seeress in an alcove off the western corridor will tell everybody’s fortune.”
The whisper ran from lip to lip at the banquet table, where the players were being feasted and wined by the hospitable Bonairs.
The gay, impressionable people of the troupe were charmed with the idea, and when they left the table they went en masse to the alcove, chaperoned by the housekeeper, who under orders from her mistress was doing the honors.
As they were admitted one by one to the alcove, the others, waiting in the magnificent corridor lined with tall palms, statues, and pictures, strolled about, peering into rooms and admiring the splendor of the palace where they were for the moment sojourners.
The housekeeper, a portly, loquacious woman, kept by Berry’s side, having conceived a liking for the lovely actress.