"What is it? What is it meant to be?" came eagerly from many of the audience. And Paul knew--knew all too well--but he sate silent, crushing down his anger at the skill of the thrust. "What is it?" echoed Alice Woodward, who, with an opera cloak thrown over her last costume, had returned to her rôle of spectator. "Why, Brynhild, of course, mamma! The Nibelungen, you know--we heard that German tenor in it, if you remember. Mrs. Vane has staged it beautifully, hasn't she, Captain Macleod; and how well the dress suits Miss Carmichael's style. That is Mr. Gillespie, of course; he looks taller in armour. You know, mamma, it is a sort of allegory. Sigurd has to leap----" She paused abruptly to look at her companion. He had started to his feet, and a quick cry of "Take care! Take care!" rose from various parts of the house, for a breath of wind, coming from some opening door, had bent the flames perilously near to those filmy draperies. "Look out, Gillespie! for God's sake look out!" he shouted; but the mailed figure, failing to understand, turned to the audience, and the next instant Paul, tearing off his coat the while, had leapt over the footlights, and scattering the circle in his hurry was on his knees beside Marjory crushing out the fire which had caught her dress. The heated spirit spilt on the floor blazed up fiercely, almost hiding those two, and rousing a shriek of dismay from the ladies. "Down with the curtain and keep the draught out!" shouted Paul; "and run back the carpet some of you. Lie still a moment, please--it is beyond you." As a matter of fact the sudden burst of flame was nearer to the mailed figure, who, being penned in between it and the falling curtain, chose the footlights and landed in Mrs. Woodward's arms a second before Dr. Kennedy's voice rang out reassuringly to say it was all right. "You might bring a blanket, Kennedy," said Paul, still with his arms round Marjory. "If you will excuse me a moment longer, Miss Carmichael, it will be wiser--muslin is so apt to flare. Tell me if I am hurting you." Perhaps he did not mean--being a gentleman in most ways--to lower his voice in the least, and yet he did lower it. He could scarcely help himself with that touch thrilling through him, and at the sound of the tenderness in his own tones something in him seemed to cast itself loose from all anchorage and, spreading white wings over the tempest of emotion that arose in him, to bear him swiftly to a haven of perfect content. "I'm not hurt at all," she said; yet she looked at his face so close to hers with startled eyes, and gave a little shiver; then went on hastily. "But you--your shirt sleeve is all burnt--it is smouldering still. Tom! come quick! No! No!--not for me. There was a spark still, Captain Macleod--I saw it----" "It is out now at any rate--be still for one more second, please. Thanks, Kennedy--just slip it under while I lift. So--a perfect roly-poly! That is well over!"