Marion heard an order given, the curtain was rung down, and then Mr. Brown’s voice came to her as if from some great distance. He was talking calmly to the audience, telling them what had happened. There was a dim murmur of applause from the front of the house, then Marion heard no more, for she had suddenly come to her senses just as two of the “supers” came “behind,” carrying one of the chorus girls between them. “Quick!” cried Marion, as she instantly knelt by the wounded girl’s side. “Give me a piece of ribbon or a big handkerchief, someone. She will bleed to death if we don’t prevent it. Now, a stick of some kind!” she added, as some one handed her a piece of ribbon. As deftly as possible Marion wound the ribbon around the girl’s bleeding arm, and then, thrusting a stick through it, she began twisting it gently. The stage manager had already sent for a physician, but before he arrived Marion had stopped the flow of blood. “Well done, my brave girl,” said the doctor, smiling at her. “You have saved this girl’s life. It is a pity there are not more women like you.” “Oh, but I have had experience as a nurse,” said Marion, quickly. “I was in Charity Hospital for awhile this winter.” “That accounts for it, then,” said the doctor, as he applied a ligature. Marion helped him deftly, all the time listening for her cue. Fortunately there was a good deal for the other performers to do before she was needed. For in less than five minutes the curtain had gone up again, showing the sword drill exactly where the momentary tragedy had left it. “One of the chorus girls has pricked herself with her sword,” the audience was told. No one, except a few of her companions, dreamed that the injury was serious. When Marion’s turn came at last, Miss Lindsay’s arm was all bandaged and she had just opened her eyes with a return of consciousness. As Marion rose from her place beside her on the dusty floor of the scene-room she caught a glance from Jack Green’s eyes as he stood a little way from them. The fair girl shuddered as she saw his look; it was so full of an ugly, brooding hatred. “He hates her and she loves him,” was her whispered comment. The next moment she was out on the stage, and everything else was forgotten. “Ila de Parloa’s” appearance was always the signal for great applause, but to-night the audience fairly outdid themselves. It seemed as though they were determined to give her an unusual welcome. Once, as she sang, Marion glanced suddenly into the wings. Carlotta stood there watching her, with a face that was almost ashen. When the song was ended there was tremendous applause. Marion had never sung better, and her audience appreciated the effort. She was encored until she was obliged to go back, and this time, just as she stepped on the stage, she caught sight of Mr. Graham in the rear of a box, talking to a gentleman.