There was very little applause until Miss March made her entrance; her appearance was the signal for another demonstration of enthusiasm. Probably seven-eighths of the audience did not know why they were applauding, but the other eighth did, and its enthusiasm was, as a matter of course, contagious. The applause was literally deafening. In its midst Mr. Merry hurled his bouquet upon the stage. It fell at the feet of the young actress, who picked it up, smiling and blushing, to the evident delight of the elderly "masher." Mrs. Allston shuddered. "This life of feverish excitement will kill my child," she said. "She must abandon it." "Wait till you see her play, mother," said Al. "That will not alter my determination." "Wait," added the boy, quietly. He was not wrong in the conclusion he had reached. Miss March's part was small, but it was a strong one. It was that of a persecuted young girl who had been driven from home because of a misunderstanding. It was a pathetic role, and before the actress had been on the stage five minutes the entire female portion of the audience were in tears, and there was a suspicious moisture in the eyes of more than one of the sterner sex. "Isn't she fine?" whispered Al in his mother's ear, as the girl left the stage, after her first scene. "It is wonderful! I am amazed." "You did not think there was so much talent in the family, did you? Now, wouldn't it be a pity to rob the stage of such an ornament?" "Yes." "I thought you would say so. I believe she has a great future. But let us leave the decision to her." "We will do so, my boy." At this moment there came a shrill cry from the gallery. "Fire!" For one instant there was a dead silence; then three-quarters of the audience sprang to their feet. Then came a mad rush for the exits. It was a scene of indescribable confusion. Women and children were trampled beneath the feet of those who should have been their protectors, but whose only thought now was to save their cowardly selves. The shrieks of the terrified women, the groans of the injured, the curses of the rougher element, who, though face to face with death, did not fear to blaspheme--these added to the horror of the scene. It was evident that the alarm had not been a false one, for the house was rapidly filling with smoke, and the crackling of flames could be plainly heard. The doors soon became blocked. It seemed certain that many must perish in the flames. Al quickly led his mother through the door that connected the box with the stage, and conducted her in safety out of the building through the stage entrance. As he passed Mr. Wattles at the door he uttered one word: "Gladys?" "She is safe," the manager replied. "She went out but a moment ago." "Thank Heaven! Mother, are you afraid to go back to the hotel alone?" "No, no; it is but a very short distance. But what are you going to do, my boy?"