Celia was well-nigh distracted. Although loth to cause the stage-manager so much inconvenience and bother, it would be too terrible to think of Herbert, perhaps dying, with none of his own kin near him, whilst she was playing on the hateful stage. Calhoun pulled out his watch, for the precious minutes were speeding away. All three looked at her in eager expectation. What would her answer be? After what seemed an eternity, although it was in reality only about fifty seconds, she heaved a deep sigh. “All right, I’ll go through with it,” she said with an effort. “Or at least I’ll do my best. But please--leave me alone--just for a few minutes.” “That’s a brave girl!” exclaimed Haviland, with gratification. “I knew she wouldn’t put us in such a fix.” “In seven minutes the call-boy will be here,” said the stage-manager; and then with a word of encouragement the two men withdrew. Celia sat down at the table and buried her face in her hands. She tried to think, even to pray, but her senses seemed quite dulled. Fortunately the possibility of her stumbling or breaking down never entered her mind. She had promised to go through with it; and she meant to fulfil her promise. There might be tears and pain at heart, but there would be the usual stage-smile on her face. When she raised her head, there was an expression of almost fierce determination on her countenance. She would not, must not, fail! Mrs. Jackson readjusted the details of her costume, whilst Grace tried to utter words of commiseration and encouragement. Then the former produced a small spirit-flask and glass, and bade Celia drink. “There’s nothing like a drop of brandy neat, for putting life into a body,” she said cheerfully. “Come now, drink it, missie; it will do you good.” But the girl demurred. “No thanks, I would rather not,” she replied. “I am all right now;” and then the patter of flying feet heralded the coming of the call-boy. For years after Celia remembered that night, and declared she could never have gone through it again. Calhoun said she had never acted so well. In the third act, in which she was the central figure all through, she surpassed herself, and as the curtain fell, evoked a veritable tumult of applause. And not one out of that light-hearted, pleasure-loving audience had the slightest idea how it hurt her to give that merry ringing laugh at the end of the first scene; or that when, later on, she had to say, “Where is my beloved?... My beloved lays a-dying!” the tears in her voice were unfeigned.