n. The debutante did not return that night; but in her
place came Olympia, with a little tragedy in her face, and a touching
speech, which excited admiration for herself and unbounded sympathy for
her protege; after which, she entered into the character of Violette,
with a grace of action and a power of voice that carried the management
through what had threatened to be a serious dilemma.

The truth is, this woman, Olympia, was a remarkably clever person, and
knew how to manage her subjects a great deal better than some monarchs
of England have done. But she was in a raging passion that night, and
the excitement lent her force, which she exhausted in the part, while
her child lay moaning on the dressing-room sofa.

In the midst of the first confusion, that young girl in the box had
started up, and laid her hand on Hepworth Closs's arm.

"Go back to where they have taken her. You know the way. Tell my maid,
Margaret, to come to me at once. No, no; take me with you. I may be of
use. Poor girl! poor girl! They have almost killed her."

"But it is impossible," said Closs, looking toward Lady Hope, who was
leaning against the side of the box, with her face turned away. "She
would not permit it."

"She does not object. We need not be seen. No one will recognize us.
Come! come!"

She took Hepworth's arm, and almost forced him from the box.

"Which way? Come! come! I will go."

Hepworth had been too often behind the scenes not to know how to gain
admittance there on this occasion. He knew how resolute that young
creature was, when a generous or daring idea possessed her, and, after
waiting a moment for Lady Hope to speak, led Lady Clara away.

Clara was bewildered and almost terrified by the black darkness of the
passage, which was lighted only by fitful gleams from the stage; but
excitement kept up her courage, and she entered Olympia's dressing-room
with the air of a person born to the tragic purple.

CHAPTER X.

THE TWO FOSTER-CHILDREN MEET.

Caroline was lying upon a heap of rich garments piled on the sofa. She
was trembling still, and every few moments a burst of bitter sobs broke
from her. Three women were standing by--her own maid, Eliza, upon whose
sympathetic face tears were trembling; Margaret, her sister; and, most
conspicuous of all, Olympia's French maid, who bent over the poor girl,
with a bottle of perfume in each hand, with which she insisted on
assuaging the unhappy girl's anguish.

Lady