n your last scene. I can't forgive Douglass for that."

She patted his cheek. "Never mind that, Hughie. 'This, too, shall pass
away.'"

X

At two o'clock, when Douglass returned to his hotel, tired and reckless
of any man's scorn, the night clerk smiled and said, as he handed him a
handful of letters, "I hear you had a great audience, Mr. Douglass."

The playwright did not discover Helen's note among his letters till he
had reached his room, and then, without removing his overcoat, he stood
beneath the gas-jet and read:

"MY DEAR AUTHOR,--My heart bleeds for you. I know how you must
suffer, but you must not despair. A first night is not conclusive.
Do not blame yourself. I took up your play with my eyes open to
consequences. You are wrong if you think even the failure of this
play (which I do not grant) can make any difference in my feeling
towards you. The power of the lines, your high purpose, remain.
Suppose it does fail? You are young and fertile of imagination. You
can write another and better play in a month, and I will produce
it. My faith in you is not weakened, for I know your work is good.
I have turned my back on the old art and the old roles; I need you
to supply me with new ones. This is no light thing with me. I
confess to surprise and dismay to-night, but I should not have been
depressed had you been there beside me. I was deeply hurt and
puzzled by your absence, but I think I understand how sore and
wounded you were. Come in to see me to-morrow, as usual, and we
will consider what can be done with this play and plan for a new
one. Come! You are too strong and too proud to let a single
unfriendly audience dishearten you. We will read the papers
together at luncheon and laugh at the critics. Don't let your
enemies think they have driven you into retirement. Forget them in
some new work, and remember my faith in you is not shaken."

This letter, so brave, so gravely tender and so generous, filled him
with love, choked him with grateful admiration. "You are the noblest
woman in the world, the bravest, the most forgiving. I will not
disappoint you."

His bitterness and shame vanished, his fists clinched in new resolution.
"You are right. I can write another play, and I will. My critics shall
laugh from the other side of their mouths. They shall not have the
satisfaction of knowing that they