tears. As delineated by Mr. Daly, it was true to
the most sacred traditions of melodrama as he found it when he began
his career. The sorrowful demeanour, the tremolo music, the long,
explanatory, cumulative addresses, all were there.

"Poor fellow," read Carrie, consulting the text and drawing her voice
out pathetically. "Martin, be sure and give him a glass of wine before
he goes."

She was surprised at the briefness of the entire part, not knowing that
she must be on the stage while others were talking, and not only be
there, but also keep herself in harmony with the dramatic movement of
the scenes.

"I think I can do that, though," she concluded.

When Drouet came the next night, she was very much satisfied with her
day's study.

"Well, how goes it, Caddie?" he said.

"All right," she laughed. "I think I have it memorised nearly."

"That's good," he said. "Let's hear some of it."

"Oh, I don't know whether I can get up and say it off here," she said
bashfully.

"Well, I don't know why you shouldn't. It'll be easier here than it will
there."

"I don't know about that," she answered. Eventually she took off the
ballroom episode with considerable feeling, forgetting, as she got
deeper in the scene, all about Drouet, and letting herself rise to a
fine state of feeling.

"Good," said Drouet; "fine, out o' sight! You're all right Caddie, I
tell you."

He was really moved by her excellent representation and the general
appearance of the pathetic little figure as it swayed and finally
fainted to the floor. He had bounded up to catch her, and now held her
laughing in his arms.

"Ain't you afraid you'll hurt yourself?" he asked.

"Not a bit."

"Well, you're a wonder. Say, I never knew you could do anything like
that."

"I never did, either," said Carrie merrily, her face flushed with
delight.

"Well, you can bet that you're all right," said Drouet. "You can take my
word for that. You won't fail."

Chapter XVII. A GLIMPSE THROUGH THE GATEWAY--HOPE LIGHTENS THE EYE

The, to Carrie, very important theatrical performance was to take place
at the Avery on conditions which were to make it more noteworthy than
was at first anticipated. The little dramatic student had written to
Hurstwood the very morning her part was brought her that she was going
to take part in a play.

"I really am," she wrote, feeling that he might take it as a jest; "I
have my part now, honest, truly."

Hurstwood smiled in