Then how the tragedy happened no one ever quite understood. Fay was laughing and kissing her little hands up to the gallery, as alive as a piece of quicksilver, when the heavy curtain came down suddenly, and before anyone could shout, struck her. Claudia, who had risen in horror, caught a look of almost childish surprise in the blue eyes before Fay lay flattened out on the ground the two pretty arms thrown out helplessly in front of her, the curtain, as it were, cutting her in two.
For a moment there was a horrible awed hush; then a woman in the audience gave vent to a piercing shriek, and immediately a tumult of cries and shouts filled the auditorium. Claudia, who had been almost stunned by the suddenness of the thing, had just time to see the men fighting their way to the front, apparently with some vague idea of raising the curtain off the little body, when she saw the curtain move up a few inches and half a dozen hands gently drag the body behind it. She turned to Jack. He was staring down at the stage, his face ashen grey, his eyes starting out of his head. But he made no movement to go to his wife.
“Jack,” she panted, “we must go round. Quick! Don’t you want to get to her?”
Still he did not move, nor did he seem to hear her. He was still staring down at the stage.
“Jack!” she shook his arm. “Rouse yourself! Come quick!”
He seemed to awaken with a shudder, and she drew him into the shadow of the box.
“I can’t,” he said, with dry lips and shaking from head to foot. “I can’t.... Is she dead?”
Claudia was unaware of the great weight of the curtain, and tried to speak encouragingly.
“No, no, of course not.... Jack, you must go to her.”