The curtain went up, showing the lover still on his knees, unmindful of the captors who clutched him by the shoulder, for at his feet the girl lay dying. Her head was on his breast, now, her eyes looked full into his, no longer wild with fear, but eloquent with the love which even death could not conquer. The power of those tender eyes thrilled Coventry with a strange delight, and set his heart beating as rapidly as hers had done. She felt his hands tremble, saw the color flash into his cheek, knew that she had touched him at last, and when she rose it was with a sense of triumph which she found it hard to conceal. Others thought it fine acting; Coventry tried to believe so; but Lucia set her teeth, and, as the curtain fell on that second picture, she left her place to hurry behind the scenes, bent on putting an end to such dangerous play. Several actors were complimenting the mimic lovers. Jean took it merrily, but Coventry, in spite of himself, betrayed that he was excited by something deeper than mere gratified vanity. As Lucia appeared, his manner changed to its usual indifference; but he could not quench the unwonted fire of his eyes, or keep all trace of emotion out of his face, and she saw this with a sharp pang. “I have come to offer my help. You must be tired, Miss Muir. Can I relieve you?” said Lucia hastily. “Yes, thank you. I shall be very glad to leave the rest to you, and enjoy them from the front.” So with a sweet smile Jean tripped away, and to Lucia’s dismay Coventry followed. “I want you, Gerald; please stay,” she cried. “I’ve done my part--no more tragedy for me tonight.” And he was gone before she could entreat or command. There was no help for it; she must stay and do her duty, or expose her jealousy to the quick eyes about her. For a time she bore it; but the sight of her cousin leaning over the chair she had left and chatting with the governess, who now filled it, grew unbearable, and she dispatched a little girl with a message to Miss Muir. “Please, Miss Beaufort wants you for Queen Bess, as you are the only lady with red hair. Will you come?” whispered the child, quite unconscious of any hidden sting in her words. “Yes, dear, willingly though I’m not stately enough for Her Majesty, nor handsome enough,” said Jean, rising with an untroubled face, though she resented the feminine insult. “Do you want an Essex? I’m all dressed for it,” said Coventry, following to the door with a wistful look. “No, Miss Beaufort said _you_ were not to come. She doesn’t want you both together,” said the child decidedly. Jean gave him a significant look, shrugged her shoulders, and went away smiling her odd smile, while Coventry paced up and down the hall in a curious state of unrest, which made him forgetful of everything till the young people came gaily out to supper.