Yet, with all the girl's uneasiness, she had little time for indulging nervous presentiments. There was much work to be done, and the time was short. Even when the decorations had been satisfactorily freshened, her unreliable performers would have to be looked after. One girl had left a candlestick, which must be retrimmed; another had forgotten to take home her hoop, which had to be twined with fresh Gold of Ophir roses. Last of all she must collect and sort carefully all the necessary articles that would be called for by fair irresponsibles at the very last moment. When I joined her in the green room at one o'clock, she looked anything but dejected, as she dabbed energetically the contents of a rouge pot onto the cheeks of a procession of maidens, filing in turn before her. "There! go in peace, and dance your best," she cried, flinging away the ruddy rag as the last of the file passed on to the artist who was doing the eyes. "Everything moves anxiously to-day," the girl said, pathetically, while she rested a moment against the wall. "I suppose I am a simpleton, but I feel as if the crack of doom were at hand. Mariposilla is late, although I told them to send her at half past twelve, and the Harlequin's wife has forgotten his cap," she said, almost hysterically, as she turned from my side to answer a volley of unnecessary questions. "Where shall we go, Miss Walton?" "Miss Walton, can't I have some paint on my cheeks?" "Please, Miss Walton, my slipper is untied!" "Miss Walton, my sister has lost her hat." "Go directly onto the stage and stay, in readiness for your positions," the girl answered, distractedly. "Come," I said, hoping to take her a moment out of herself, "Come with me into one of the flies; I have something to tell you." "Dear me," she exclaimed, "what can have become of Mariposilla?" "She is safe to-day," I answered, as we entered the fly. "She is safe to-day! But what will become of her to-morrow? The Sandersons have gone!" "The Sandersons gone!" the girl repeated, in excitement. "Where have they gone?" "They left to-day at noon for New York, to enable Sidney to marry, if possible, Gladys Carpenter. Her father has just died. With his death the daughter inherits three millions." The words had but escaped my lips when a commotion in the adjoining fly betokened some catastrophe. In a second we had pushed through a crowd of frightened girls, to bend in horror over the prostrate form of Mariposilla. "She is dead," cried Ethel. "She heard what we said and our words have killed her." "Hush!" I whispered, "she has only fainted. Get water quickly." Ethel flew at my bidding, while I unfastened the little bodice that but a moment before had heaved so lightly with the pulsations of a happy heart. Dear little Butterfly, I thought, how cruelly have your poor little wings been crushed! Hot, indignant tears rained from my eyes, as I superstitiously unclasped the opal necklace, once worn by the beautiful, unfortunate Lola.