"Do not alarm yourself. She has only fainted I suppose. Bring some water and we will soon revive her."
She ran into the dressing-room, and Mr. Leith bent down over the prostrate form and lifted the drooping head compassionately.
The ugly, concealing cap and glasses had fallen off, and as his gaze rested fully on the lovely, marble-white face, a cry of surprise and anguish broke from his lips.
"My God, how terribly like!" he muttered. Then, as Mrs. Leith returned with water and eau de cologne, he applied them both, without the slightest success, for Golden still lay cold, white and rigid, like one dead, upon his arm.
"Is she dead?" Mrs. Leith whispered, fearfully.
"I cannot tell. Ring for the housekeeper. Perhaps she may know better how to apply the remedies," he replied, still holding the light form in his arms, and gazing with a dazed expression on the beautiful, unconscious face.
The housekeeper came, and declared, in a fright at first, that the girl was dead. Then she turned Mr. Leith out of the room, loosened Golden's clothing, and rubbed her vigorously.
In about ten minutes the quiet eyelids fluttered faintly, and a gasping sigh parted the white lips.
The housekeeper beckoned Mrs. Leith to her side.
"She lives," she whispered, softly, "but she had better have died."