“Oh, I am sure somebody cares,” said Marion, quickly, “and really, Miss Lindsay, you should put on more rouge. You are awfully pale. I am afraid the calcium will make you look ghastly.” “I don’t care if it does,” said the girl indifferently, but she did smear a little of the red stuff across her cheeks and eyelids. There was another call and the chorus came rushing from the stairs—in less than a moment the overture would be ended. Marion did not have to go on for some little time, but she followed slowly down the stairs, in order to stand in the wings, as she always enjoyed listening to the chorus. Just as she reached the stairs she observed one of the chorus girls waiting for her. As she peered through the dim light she saw that it was Miss Lindsay. “Perhaps she is going to confide in me, after all,” Marion thought. “Poor thing, she is in some trouble—any one can see it.” “What is it?” she asked, as she reached the girl and put one hand tenderly on her shoulder. There was a curious look in the girl’s eyes as she answered. She put her face up close to Marion’s so that no one would hear her. “If anything should happen to me to-night, Signorita, I want you to tell Jack that I was watching behind the pile of old scenery. I saw him with you and with her, Carlotta,” she whispered, “so if anything happens he will understand it.” “But what can happen?” asked Marion, sharply. The girl darted down the stairs without stopping to answer. “Oh, she is planning something desperate!” murmured Marion, “and great Heaven! she can accomplish it, too, if she wishes, for every one of the chorus carries a sword in this act! Oh, I must go this minute and warn Mr. Graham!” CHAPTER VIII. THE CONQUEST OF A CRITIC. As Marion made her way across the scene-room she was almost trembling with alarm, for her keen intuition had told her that she was right in her surmise and that there must be no delay if she wished to prevent a tragedy. She peered here and there, looking for Mr. Graham, and then it suddenly occurred to her that he would be in the front of the house rather than behind the scenes during a performance, and that she must look for Mr. Brown, the stage manager, instead. She had just caught sight of him in the distance, talking to the “calcium man,” when the awful thing happened. It seemed to Marion that she had been listening for it all the time, yet she stood perfectly still for a moment, her nerves tense with agony. The chorus was going through a sword drill at the time, and everything was moving rhythmically, when there came a sharp scream.