ded, a moment later, "and I will take the responsibility of
it."

In the carriage the proud girl leaned back against the cushions, and
pressed her two hands to her aching eyes, from which the tears streamed.
It was all so tragically different from their anticipations. They were
to have had a little supper of jubilation together, to talk it all
over, to review the evening's triumph, and now here she sat chill with
disappointment, while he was away somewhere in the great, heartless city
suffering tortures, alone and despairing.

The sweet, old mother put her arm about her daughter's waist.

"Don't cry, dearie; it will all come right. You can endure one failure.
'Tis not as bad as it seems."

Helen did not reply as she was tempted to do by saying, "It isn't my
defeat, it is his failure to stand beside me and receive his share of
the disaster." And they rode the rest of the way in sad silence.

As she entered her room a maid handed her a letter which she knew to be
from Douglass even before she saw the handwriting, and, without opening
it, passed on into her room. "His message is too sacred for any other to
see," she said to herself, with instant apprehension of the bitter
self-accusation with which he had written.

The suffering expressed by the scrawling lines softened her heart, her
anger died away, and only big tears of pity filled her glorious eyes.
"Poor boy! His heart is broken." And a desire to comfort him swelled her
bosom with a passion almost maternal in its dignity. Now that his pride
was humbled, his strong figure bowed, his clear brain in turmoil, her
woman's tenderness sought him and embraced him without shame. Her own
strength and resolution came back to her. "I will save you from
yourself," she said, softly.

When she returned to the reception-room she found Westervelt and Hugh
and several of the leading actors (who took the evening's "frost" as a
reflection on themselves, an injury to their reputations), all in
excited clamor; but when they saw their star enter they fell silent, and
Westervelt, sweating with excitement, turned to meet her.

"You must not go on. It is not the money alone; it will ruin you with
the public. It is not for you to lecture the people. They will not have
it. Such a failure I have never seen. It was not a 'frost,' it was a
frozen solid. We will announce _The Baroness_ for to-morrow. The
pressmen are waiting below. I shall tell them?" His voice rose in
question.

"Mr. Wes