‘You’re right,’ was the other’s reply. given with a strangely sudden calmness.  ‘And we’ll see who wins.’

Clara gave no thought to the words, nor to the look of deadly enmity that accompanied them.  Alone again, she speedily became absorbed in a vision of the triumph which she never doubted was near at hand.  A long, long time it seemed since she had sold herself to degradation:  with this one hope.  You see that she had formulated her philosophy of life since then; a child of the nether world whom fate had endowed with intellect, she gave articulate utterance to what is seething in the brains of thousands who fight and perish in the obscure depths.  The bitter bargain was issuing to her profit at last; she would yet attain that end which had shone through all her misery—­to be known as a successful actress by those she had abandoned, whose faces were growing dim to her memory, but of whom, in truth, she still thought more than of all the multitudinous unknown public.  A great success during the remainder of this tour, and she might hope for an engagement in London.  Her portraits would at length be in the windows; some would recognise her.

Yet she was not so pitiless as she boasted.  The next morning, when she met Grace, there came a pain at her heart in seeing the ghastly, bloodless countenance which refused to turn towards her.  Would Grace be able to act at all at the next town?  Yes, one more scene.

They reached Bolton.  In the afternoon the rehearsal took place, but the first representation was not until to-morrow.  Clara saw her name attached to the leading female character on bills rapidly printed and distributed through the town.  She went about in a dream, rather a delirium.  Mr. Peel used his most affable manner to her; his compliments after the rehearsal were an augury of great things.  And the eventful evening approached.

To give herself plenty of time to dress (the costumes needed for the part were fortunately simple, and Mr. Peel had advanced her money to make needful purchases) she left her lodgings at half-past six.  It was a fine evening, but very dark in the two or three by-streets along which she had to pass to reach the theatre.  She waited a minute on the doorstep to let a troop of female mill-hands go by; their shoes clanked on the pavement, and they were singing in chorus, a common habit of their kind in leaving work.  Then she started and walked quickly. .

Close by the stage-door, which was in a dark, narrow passage, stood a woman with veiled face, a shawl muffling the upper part of her body.  Since six o’clock she had been waiting about the spot, occasionally walking to a short distance, but always keeping her face turned towards the door.  One or two persons came up and entered; she observed them, but held aloof.  Another drew near.  The woman advanced, and, as she did so, freed one of her arms from the shawl.

‘That you, Grace?’ said Clara, almost kindly, for in her victorious joy she was ready to be at peace with all the world.