looked at him in astonishment. In the dim light of the theatre
she could see his face glowing with pride and pleasure.

She gave a little gasp. "Oh, Phil, aren't you--I mean--are you _glad_
about it?"

"I don't know,--Azalea,--it seems so queer--but, oh, look at that! Did
you really do that, Azalea!"

For the girl on the screen had flung herself, bareback, on a vicious,
bucking pony, and holding on by his mane, went through the most
hairbreadth escapes, yet was not thrown. Indeed, she finally tamed the
wild creature, and dashed madly off on her errand. This was the rescue
of a baby who had been left behind, when those who should have looked
after the child were themselves fleeing from a cyclone.

The scene was remarkably well staged, and the illusion of the cyclone
wonderfully worked out.

The baby, left to the care of servants, was in a lightly built house
that rocked in the blasts. It threatened to collapse at any minute, and
Azalea, racing against time, in the face of the gale, spurred on her
flying steed, and reached the house just as it crashed to ruins.

Flinging herself from the horse, she dashed into the piles of debris,
and, the gale nearly blowing her off her feet, contrived to find the
child.

Of course, in the taking of the picture, Fleurette had been in no danger
whatever; in fact, had not been in the falling house at all, until time
for Azalea to find her in the ruins.

But this was not apparent to the audience. To them it seemed that the
baby must have been there all the time.

Van Reypen sat breathless, watching the screen with rapt attention.

He thought little of the baby's danger, knowing the methods of making
pictures, but he was lost in admiration of Azalea, her fine athletic
figure, and her free, strong motions, as she battled with the winds and
triumphantly snatched the baby from harm.

Then, the child in one arm, she flung herself again on the pony's back,
the animal prancing wildly, but tractable beneath Azalea's determined
guidance, and they were off like the wind itself to a place of safety.
The wild ride was picturesque, if frightful, and there was a burst of
applause from the spectators, as Azalea, panting, exhausted, but safe,
at last reached her goal, and leaning down from the horse, placed the
baby in the arms of its weeping, distracted mother.

Azalea's beauty was of the sort that needs excitement or physical
exertion to bring out its best effects and as she stood beside t