The dancer was forgotten, swept as it were from the minds of the audience as an insect whose life was of no account.  From the back of the stage came a roar like the roar of an open furnace.  A great wave of heat rushed into the hall, and people turned like terrified, stampeding animals and made for the exits.

The Dragon-Fly still stood behind the footlights poised as if for flight, glancing this way and that, shimmering from head to foot in the awful glare that spread behind the descending curtain.  It was evident that retreat behind the scenes was impossible, and in another moment or two that falling curtain would cut off the only way left.

But suddenly, before the dancer’s hunted eyes, a man leapt forward.  He held up his arms, making himself heard in clear command above the dreadful babel behind him.

“Quick!” he cried.  “Jump!”

The wild eyes flashed down at him, wavered, and were caught in his compelling gaze.  For a single instant—­the last—­the trembling, glittering figure seemed to hesitate, then like a streak of lightning leapt straight over the footlights into the outstretched arms.

They caught and held with unwavering iron strength.  In the midst of a turmoil indescribable the Dragon-Fly hung quivering on the man’s breast, the gauze wings shattered in that close, sustaining grip.  The safety-curtain came down with a thud, shutting off the horrors behind, and a loud voice yelled through the building assuring the seething crowd of safety.

But panic had set in.  The heat was terrific.  People fought and struggled to reach the exits.

The dancer turned in the man’s arms and raised a deathly face, gripping his shoulders with clinging, convulsive fingers.  Two wild dark eyes looked up to his, desperately afraid, seeking reassurance.

He answered that look briefly with stern composure.

“Be still!  I shall save you if I can.”

The dancer’s heart was beating in mad terror against his own, but at his words it seemed to grow a little calmer.  Quiveringly the white lips spoke.

“There is a door—­close to the stage—­a little door—­behind a green curtain—­if we could reach it.”

“Ah!” the man said.

His eyes went to the stage, from the proximity of which the audience had fled affrighted.  He espied the curtain.

Only a few people intervened between him and it, and they were struggling to escape in the opposite direction.

“Quick!” gasped the dancer.

He turned, snatched up his great-coat, and wrapped it about the slight, boyish figure.  The great dark eyes that shone out of the small white face thanked him for the action.  The clinging hands slipped from his shoulders and clasped his arm.  Together they faced the fearful heat that raged behind the safety-curtain.

They reached the small door, gasping.  It was almost hidden by green drapery.  But the dancer was evidently familiar with it.  In a moment it was open.  A great burst of smoke met them.  The man drew back.  But a quick hand closed upon his, drawing him on.  He went blindly, feeling as if he were stepping into the heart of a furnace, yet strangely determined to go forward whatever came of it.