w that you know--if you think it best--'

'Who is he?'

'Mr. Van Torp.'

'Yes?' Margaret bent her ear to the girl's lips and waited.

Again there was a pause of many seconds, and then the voice came
once more, with a great effort that only produced very faint sounds,
scarcely above a whisper.

'He did it.'

That was all. At long intervals the dying girl drew deep breaths,
longer and longer, and then no more. Margaret looked anxiously at the
still face for some time, and then straightened herself suddenly.

'Doctor! Doctor!' she cried.

The young man was beside her in an instant. For a full minute there
was no sound in the room, and he bent over the motionless figure.

'I'm afraid I can't do anything,' he said gently, and he rose to his
feet.

'Is she really dead?' Margaret asked, in an undertone.

'Yes. Failure of the heart, from shock.'

'Is that what you will call it?'

'That is what it is,' said the doctor with a little emphasis of
offence, as if his science had been doubted. 'You knew her, I
suppose?'

'No. I never saw her before. I will call Schreiermeyer.'

She stood still a moment longer, looking down at the dead face, and
she wondered what it all meant, and why the poor girl had sent for
her, and what it was that Mr. Van Torp had done. Then she turned very
slowly and went out.

'Dead, I suppose,' said Schreiermeyer as soon as he saw the
Primadonna's face. 'Her relations won't get here in time.'

Margaret nodded in silence and went on through the lobby.

'The rehearsal is at eleven,' the manager called out after her, in his
wooden voice.

She nodded again, but did not look back. Griggs had waited in order
to take her back to her dressing-room, and the two crossed the stage
together. It was almost quite dark now, and the carpenters were gone
away.

'Thank you,' Margaret said. 'If you don't care to go all the way back
you can get out by the stage door.'

'Yes. I know the way in this theatre. Before I say good-night, do you
mind telling me what the doctor said?'

'He said she died of failure of the heart, from shock. Those were his
words. Why do you ask?'

'Mere curiosity. I helped to carry her--that is, I carried her myself
to the manager's room, and she begged me to call you, so I came to
your door.'

'It was kind of you. Perhaps it made a difference to her, poor girl.
Good-night.'

'Good-night. When do you sail?'

'On Saturday. I sing "Juliet" on Friday night and sail the next