But her nerves were stretched to their utmost limit of endurance, and the reaction was bound to follow. She returned to the dressing-room in a state bordering on exhaustion, scarcely heeding Mr. Calhoun’s “Well done!” Fortunately, however, the worst was over, for the remaining act entailed but slight exertion. She begged Grace Haviland to read the account of the assault at Durlston whilst she was changing her costume; and, occasionally interrupted by sundry comments from Mrs. Jackson, Grace complied with her request. The gist of the matter was this:-- Jacob Strelitzki, a former heeler at Messrs. Mendel and Co.’s boot factory at Durlston, had, after an absence of two months, returned and run amok at the factory, attempting to wound three men with a large clasp-knife. Being of the opinion that he was either the victim of delirium tremens, or else had lost his reason, the factory people made every effort to detain him, but he cleverly managed to slip through their fingers and made his escape. Nothing more was heard of him until that very morning, when he had forced his way into the studio at the Towers, and, without any warning, attacked Mr. Karne--who was at work upon a picture--with the same clasp-knife he had used on the former occasion. Mr. Karne’s servants had come to the rescue, and managed to subdue the man, who was undoubtedly a raving lunatic, but not before he had been able to inflict serious injury to the unfortunate artist. No adequate motive for the crime was assigned, except that for some time Strelitzki had cherished a senseless grudge against Herbert Karne, and had so worked upon his comrades at the factory, that at his instigation they had even set fire to the artist’s house. Recently, however, a complete reconciliation between Herbert Karne and the factory people had taken place; and the latter were shocked and horrified in the extreme at the dastardly action of their former colleague. Meanwhile, Mr. Karne lay in a critical condition, having been wounded in the thorax and right lung. Celia’s face blanched as she listened, whilst a sickening anxiety tore at her heart. Oh, if only Higgins had despatched the telegram a little earlier, she would have been well on her way to Durlston by now. As it was, she would have to wait till morning. Would morning ever come? Mrs. Jackson thought the girl was going to faint, and insisted on forcing some brandy down her throat. She was very sympathetic, almost obtrusively so; for it was that tactless sympathy which is worse than none at all.