"If she only sees it," he thought. But apparently she didn't. Going wearily to an old cupboard, she took out a crust of bread. Then she drew the ragged curtains at the windows and lit a candle. Simultaneously the entire attic was illuminated, for stage candles have remarkable powers of diffusing light. "Why doesn't she pick up the flower?" exclaimed Grace. "If she doesn't the scheme won't work at all." "I believe she's going to die," whispered Nora in a broken voice. Just then the Irish comedian appeared, puffing and blowing from the long climb he had had to the top of the house. He had come to bring help to the dying girl, but he was funny in spite of the dreary tragedy, and Nora changed her tears to laughter and began to giggle violently, burying her face in her handkerchief in her effort to control her mirth. Her laughter was always contagious, and presently her two friends were giggling in chorus. "Do hush, Nora O'Malley!" whispered Jessica nervously. "You know that if you once get us started we'll never stop." A countryman, sitting back of Nora, touched her on the shoulder. "Be you laughing or crying, miss?" he asked. "It ain't a time for laughing nor yet for crying, since the young lady ain't dead yet and I don't believe she's goin' to die, either." "She just is," exclaimed Nora, wiping the tears from her eyes. "She'll die before she gets off that bed to-night, I'll wager anything." All this while, the chrysanthemum with the note twisted and pinned to its stem lay in the middle of the stage. In the meantime, Anne had fallen into a stupor from cold and hunger. The kind little comedian rushed about the stage, making a fire, putting on the tea kettle and stumbling over his own feet in an effort to be useful. "Now, all the others will enter in a minute," whispered Grace disgustedly, "and she'll never get it at all." Just then Anne turned on her pillow and opened her eyes. They looked straight at David, who was sitting in the front of the box. He pointed deliberately at the chrysanthemum. "She sees it," said Jessica, for Anne's eyes were now fixed on the flower. When the kind Irishman departed to spend his last cent on medicine and food for the dying girl, she rose, staggered across the stage, seized the chrysanthemum and rushed back again, just in time to be lying prone when her father entered, now a repentant and sorrowful sinner. "It's all right," whispered Grace in a relieved tone. "I feel sure that the plan will work to perfection." Anne _did_ die a stage death, and there was not a dry eye in the house when she forgave her father, bade farewell to the entire company, who had now gathered in the attic, and her soul passed out to soft music while the lights were turned very low. "Fire! Fire!" rang out a voice from the darkened house. Where did the voice come from? Nora and Jessica were so startled they could only clutch each other and wonder, while Grace whispered: "Don't move from your seats."