An indiscriminate course of theatre-going during visits to New York with an indulgent and unobservant father had introduced her to a class of modern dramas that are, to put it mildly, not meant for babes--though the parents of New York babes seem blandly indifferent to the unfitness--and the chances are that had the teachers been thoroughly posted as to her repertoire it would have been suddenly and forcibly abridged; but she reserved Shakespearian rôles for the edification of the faculty. Miss Emmeline passing through the hall one day was much perturbed by hearing from behind a closed door emphatic iteration of "Out, damned spot," and even Miss Lucilla's firm assurance that the lines were Shakespeare's could not wholly reconcile the younger principal to such language. Heavy sobbing, maniacal laughter, and cries of "My child, my child!" or "Spare him! I will tell all," ceased to attract the slightest attention upon the third floor. Beyond restricting performances to recreation hours, insisting that they should not interfere with regular study, and supervising strictly the choice of real plays which Adelina and her fellow-pupils were allowed to attend, the powers that be did not take the dramatic mania seriously nor attempt to suppress it. So many fads come and go during a boarding-school year, perishing usually of their own momentum. "The girls will soon tire of it," said Miss Ryder, very sensibly, "and Adelina will be through with the nonsense the more quickly for being allowed to work it off." Incidentally she wrote to Mr. Wilson, père, asking for his opinion. He replied in a typewritten, businesslike note that he, too, believed the stage fever would soon run its course; and there, so far as official action was concerned, the matter dropped. Gradually the girls ceased to find sport in the dramatic exhibitions and fell away, but Adelina pursued her course valiantly and unflaggingly. Occasionally Belinda labored with her honestly, trying to insert into her brain some rational and practical ideas concerning stage life, dramatic art and vaulting ambition; but her efforts were of no avail, and she, too, fell into an attitude of tolerant amusement, quite free from alarm. It was during the last week of March that the unexpected happened. One Tuesday morning Adelina failed to appear at chapel. The teacher sent to investigate reported her room in order but without occupant. A maid was sent to look through the house for the recreant, but came back without her. Then Belinda, with a flash of intuition, ran up to the vacant room. The bed had not been slept in. The trunks were there, but the girl's dress-suit case, coat, hat, furs and best street frock were missing. Pinned to the pincushion Belinda found a note, written in Adelina's spidery hand. It ran: