“Nothing on God’s earth—­while you kept true to me.”

“And if I weren’t true—­if I deceived you?”

“Why, I’d kill you—­and myself after.  But it makes me see red—­a blazing scarlet—­even to think of such a thing.  Why should you speak of it—­when it’s beyond possibility, thank Heaven!  I know you love me, or you wouldn’t make such noble sacrifices to save me from ruin.”

I shivered:  and I shall not be colder when they lay me in my coffin.  I wished that I had not looked over that precipice, down into blackness.  Why dwell on horrors, when I might have five minutes of happiness—­perhaps the last I should ever know?  I remembered the piece of good news I had for Raoul.  I would have told him then, but he went on, saying to me so many things sweet and blessed to hear, that I could not bear to cut him short, lest never after this should he speak words of love to me.  Then—­long before it ought, so it seemed—­the clock in mydressing-room struck, and I knew that I hadn’t another instant to spare.  On some first nights I might have been willing to risk keeping the curtain down (though I am rather conscientious in such ways), but to-night I wanted, more than anything else, to have the play over, and to get home by midnight or before, so that my suspense might be ended, and I might know the worst—­or best.

“I must go.  You must leave me, dear,” I said.  “But I’ve some good news for you when there’s time to explain, and a great surprise.  I can’t give you a minute until the last, for you know I’ve almost to open the third and fourth acts.  But when the curtain goes down on my death scene, come behind again.  I shan’t take any calls—­after dying, it’s too inartistic, isn’t it?  And I never do.  I’ll see you for just a few more minutes here, in this room, before I dress to go home.”

“For a few minutes!” Raoul caught me up.  “But afterwards?  You promised me long ago that I should have supper with you at your house—­just you and I alone together—­on the first night of the new play.”

My heart gave a jump as he reminded me of this promise.  Never before had I forgotten an engagement with Raoul.  But this time I had forgotten.  There had been so many miserable things to think of, that they had crowded the one pleasant thing out of my tortured brain.  I drew away from him involuntarily with a start of surprise.

“You’d forgotten!” exclaimed Raoul, disappointed and hurt.

“Only for the instant,” I said, “because I’m hardly myself.  I’m tired and excited, unstrung, as I always am on first nights.  But—­”

“Would you rather not be bothered with me?” he asked wistfully, as I paused to think what I should do.

His eyes looked as if the light had suddenly gone out of them, and I couldn’t bear that.  It might too soon be struck out for ever, and by me.