At the bang of the great door young Barney, pale under the box-office gas-light, raised his head and looked through the little window, trying to see who was outside, but the darkness was almost that of night, and Sybil, catching her breath in gasps, said: "I beg your pardon, Mr. Barney, I--I have just run in here for shelter--it's awful outside! Don't you know me? I'm Miss--Miss--" She stopped, in confusion. A tall man was stooping to peer out over Barney's shoulder. Those well-shaped, amazingly brilliant eyes were unmistakable. Then a voice of incredulity, of pleased incredulity, was saying: "It's not Miss Lawton, alone in this fearful storm, surely?" The door was pulled open, and through the out-streaming light came Stewart Thrall. His overcoat over one arm, and a closely furled umbrella in the hand, whose finger and thumb also held an unlit cigar, told plainly that he was just leaving, that had she been one single moment later she would have found only Barney in the theatre. Only one moment, but, oh, there are single moments full, replete, and pregnant with possibilities--moments that may bring forth results dire and strange! William Henry Bulkley's one moment had been sufficient for the mad runaway of the big chestnut, and things more terrible than horses may fiercely break away from all restraint in equally brief time. But Sybil, shaken, breathless, and embarrassed in the dusk, made, unconsciously, a mental, never-to-be-forgotten portrait of Stewart Thrall standing in that informing stream of light--handsome, debonair, stately of height, and graceful of bearing, and on his face that eager look that made it strangely young. He held his hand out: "Miss Lawton, is it really you? Why--good heaven, you are wet and cold!" The wind rattled windows, doors, and signs so that she could scarcely hear his words; but the warm pressure of his clasping hand was comforting to her. "Where is your carriage? eh? I can't hear you!" Something, probably a billboard, fell with a crash against the door, and the girl gave a violent start of terror. Suddenly Thrall turned, still holding her hand fast. He cast his coat, umbrella, and cigar into the office, saying sharply to Barney: "I'm not here--to anyone! You understand?" Barney looked up inquiringly. Their eyes met fully, and Thrall repeated: "Not to _anyone_!" And, closing the box-office door, he felt for the baize ones leading to the auditorium, pushed one leaf open and entered, drawing Sybil after him by the hand. As it closed he reached up and softly pushed the bolt. Outside, in the office, Barney stared stupidly, then began a double shuffle, chuckling to himself: "Oh, wait till Manice gets on to this! But one of these days the governor will stand up to her, and then she'll get a pointer on temper that will astonish her, I guess! He's too easy! I wish he'd chuck her out of the company--spiteful, bleached cat!" Undoubtedly a very vulgar-minded boy was Barney.