At length the play came to an end, and there was no longer an excuse for his remaining, as Annie Brunel, of course, did not play in the short piece which followed. So he went outside, and in getting into the street he found himself behind the two wine-merchants who had been in the box. "Why not?" said the one to the other, gaily. "If she gets into a rage, so much the better fun. ’Rosalind’ must be d—d pretty in a fury." "All right," said the other, with a hiccup. Will had heard the words distinctly; and the mere suspicion they suggested caused his blood to boil. When the two men turned into the narrow lane leading round to the stage-door of the theatre, he followed them with his mouth hard and firm, and his eyes not looking particularly amiable. At the entrance to the lane stood Miss Brunel’s cab. He recognised the face of the venerable jarvie who was accustomed to wait for her every evening. He passed up the lane; the two men had paused in front of the small wooden door, and were trying to decipher, by the aid of the lamp overhead, the features of whomsoever passed in or out. "She won’t be here for an hour," said one of them. "Shouldn’t wonder if she went home in Rosalind’s dress," said the other, with another hiccup. "She’ll ’it you, ’Arry, if you speak to her." "Let her. I’d rather like it, ’pon my soul." The stage-door was continually being swung to and fro by some one passing in or out, but as yet there was no sign of Annie Brunel. At length, however, some of the people who had been engaged in the play came out, and Will knew that she would soon follow. "Was she likely to be alone? Would they dare to speak to her?" He glanced down at the sling which supported his right arm. Deprive an Englishman of the use of his right arm, and he feels himself utterly helpless. There was one happy thought, however: even if she were alone she would be closely veiled; and how were these half-tipsy cads to recognise her? She came out; she was alone, and veiled, but Will knew the graceful figure, and the carriage of the queenly head. By some demoniac inspiration the two men seemed also to take it for granted that the veiled face was that of Annie Brunel. The less tipsy of the two went forward, overtook her as she was going down the lane, and said to her— "I beg your pardon, Miss—Miss Brunel——" She turned her head, and in the gaslight Anerley saw that there was a quick, frightened look of interrogation in her eyes. She turned away again, and had hurried on almost to the open street, when the man caught her arm with his hand. "Not so fast, my dear. Won’t you look at my card——" "Out of the way, idiot!" was the next thing she heard, in a voice that made her heart beat; and in a moment the man had been sent reeling against the opposite wall.