This loud-voiced praise could not but reach the ears of the actors, and they could not fail to know who it was that spoke. All knew that the Duchess was to be present, as a special mark of good will and condescension, and that she should speak such open praise seemed to set a seal upon the success of the entertainment. Lady Romaine could scarce contain herself for delight. Geraldine still sat as in a maze of bewildered happiness. It was not till just as the performance was closing that she was awakened from her trance, and that somewhat rudely. The last words of the interlude were being spoken. Father Time and the Youth were standing together making their last speeches to the audience, and she was gazing with all her eyes into the face of one whom she alone out of all the company had recognized, when one of the lanterns overhead, insecurely fastened, burnt its way loose, and fell flaring and blazing upon the light train of her dress. Instantly she was in a blaze. The flames shooting up made a glare all over the house, and a hundred piercing shrieks attested the terror of the ladies at the sight. But one had seen even before the flames shot up. Already the young actor had leaped like a deer to the floor of the house; in a moment he had reached the side of the lady. He had caught up in his hands a great rug which was picturesquely flung over the throne of Father Time, and before any other person in the room had recovered presence of mind sufficient to stir, he had the flaming figure wrapped round in this rug, and had borne it out through the half-open door into the safety of the grassy garden without, where, laying his burden down upon the ground tenderly, despite his haste, he was quickly able to stifle the flames and extinguish the last spark. He bent over her, his face white and ghastly in the moonlight. "You are not hurt—say you are not hurt!" "I think not; you were so quick—so quick. How can I thank you?" Her eyes looked into his; it was just one moment before the people came rushing out upon them in a frantic crowd. But that moment was their own. They looked into each other’s eyes, and a thrill passed from heart to heart that never could be forgotten. Out rushed Lord Romaine, frantic with anxiety; out followed a motley crowd—some weeping, some gasping, some exclaiming, some even laughing in hysterical excitement. Grey stood up suddenly, and slipped away like a wraith in the moonlight. Lord Romaine bent tenderly over his daughter, who was struggling to her feet, still encumbered by the folds of the great rug. She was dishevelled, her dress was torn and burnt, she held the folds of the covering wrap about her still; but her voice was only a little tremulous as she clung to her father’s arm.