plishing that object is to beat
our retreat--excuse a professional metaphor from a military man--to beat
our retreat from York to-morrow. I see my way plainly so far; but I am
all abroad, as we used to say in the militia, about my marching orders
afterward. The next direction we take ought to be chosen with an eye
to advancing your dramatic views. I am all ready, when I know what your
views are. How came you to think of the theater at all? I see the sacred
fire burning in you; tell me, who lit it?"

Magdalen could only answer him in one way. She could only look back at
the days that were gone forever, and tell him the story of her first
step toward the stage at Evergreen Lodge. Captain Wragge listened
with his usual politeness; but he evidently derived no satisfactory
impression from what he heard. Audiences of friends were audiences whom
he privately declined to trust; and the opinion of the stage-manager was
the opinion of a man who spoke with his fee in his pocket and his eye on
a future engagement.

"Interesting, deeply interesting," he said, when Magdalen had done.
"But not conclusive to a practical man. A specimen of your abilities is
necessary to enlighten me. I have been on the stage myself; the comedy
of the Rivals is familiar to me from beginning to end. A sample is all
I want, if you have not forgotten the words--a sample of 'Lucy,' and a
sample of 'Julia.'"

"I have not forgotten the words," said Magdalen, sorrowfully; "and I
have the little books with me in which my dialogue was written out.
I have never parted with them; they remind me of a time--" Her lip
trembled, and a pang of the heart-ache silenced her.

"Nervous," remarked the captain, indulgently. "Not at all a bad sign.
The greatest actresses on the stage are nervous. Follow their example,
and get over it. Where are the parts? Oh, here they are! Very nicely
written, and remarkably clean. I'll give you the cues--it will all be
over (as the dentists say) in no time. Take the back drawing-room for
the stage, and take me for the audience. Tingle goes the bell; up runs
the curtain; order in the gallery, silence in the pit--enter Lucy!"

She tried hard to control herself; she forced back the sorrow--the
innocent, natural, human sorrow for the absent and the dead--pleading
hard with her for the tears that she refused. Resolutely, with cold,
clinched hands, she tried to begin. As the first familiar words passed
her lips, Frank came back to her from th