steel. To every man
there comes his hour, and his was now. Both for her sake and his own
he dare not keep her with him. That they had been left undisturbed so
long was a miracle. Besides, as she was ill, the sooner she was in bed
the better.

He half led, half carried her to the door of her dressing room, and she
thanked him with a smile, a gesture. Her throat hurt so much that all
speech was an effort.

"You must go now," she whispered. "You will get into trouble again
through me."

The boy threw a quick furtive glance along the whitewashed passage.
With characteristic recklessness he had forgotten that the chances of
his summary dismissal were looming exceedingly near.

He had left half his work undone the previous night, he had appeared
late that morning, and now he was in a part of the building to which
all the grooms and stable helpers were forbidden entrance.

"You'll let me bring you home," he pleaded.

Arithelli shook her head. "You can't."

"Is Emile coming for you? You shall not go alone, that I swear!"

"Emile will send someone. They never let me go alone. If you will,
you may do this. If I am not down at the stables at half-past eight
to-morrow, will you find Emile and ask him to come to me. He will be
there doing my work."

"And you will sleep and be well to-morrow? To-morrow you will ride
again, and there will be the applause."

Even as he spoke he knew his words were foolishness. The feverish
skin, dry lips and eyes that were like burning holes in the thin oval
face were signs and tokens enough for the most unseeing of men. And
Vardri had suffered sufficiently himself to be able to recognise
genuine illness.

She slipped from his arms.

The little dreary laugh made him shiver.

"_Mille remerciments, mon camarade_. I'm a failure, and failures are
best left alone. _C'est ainsi que la vie_!"

* * * * * *

Hers was the sole fiasco in an otherwise successful performance.

The final spectacle was a lurid representation of the destruction of
Sodom and Gomorrah.

This species of scriptural tableaux was frequently given, and was
greatly to the taste of the spectators.

Such scenes were regularly presented in the theatres and heartily
enjoyed by the superstitious and devout populace, who found in them
nothing incongruous or repulsive to their piety.

In this particular display the Manager had excelled himself, and
achieved above all things a