And at the same moment the group moved on, carrying the somnolent Zuleime with them, and she found herself in a dazzling glare of light, and heard the deafening rant of a stentorian lunged actor near her, and grew painfully conscious of the many hundred eyes upon the scene, upon herself, perhaps—and dared not raise her eyes an instant from the floor, upon which, with a deeply burning cheek, they were fixed. But suddenly an attraction—a fatality—I know not what—but something stronger than her fear, stronger than her will, drew her glance up to the centre box of the front row, and her eyes met Frank’s eyes. Yes, there he sat, gazing at her, astonished, fixed, spell-bound as by a nightmare, without the power of moving or waking. She! she too, gazed for a moment. She was not astonished at seeing him there, any more than she would have been astonished at _dreaming_ of seeing him anywhere. It was all like a wild dream, everything! It seemed not unnatural that he should form a part of it. Only to her weakened and half-stupefied brain, the _last, nearest_ event was the most distinct—and so, strangely, she did not think of his death or life, but only of the reproach she had brought upon _him_, her proud Frank, in appearing there! and covering her face with both hands, she sank to her knees upon the floor. It was lucky the drop-curtain fell just then. It was lucky the audience took that by-scene for a part of the play. But to Zuleime it was still like a fever-dream, from which she tried to wake. Like a dream the drop-curtain had rolled down. But not like a dream was the rough seizure of her arm by a girl who set her upon her feet, and said, in a not unfriendly tone— “What did you do that for? _That_ warn’t a part of _your_ part.” “I—I—have,” began Zuleime, passing her hand back and forth across her forehead, “I have been taking opium to stop my cough. I—never was used to it, and I think it has bewildered me a little; don’t _you_ think so?” “I think _something_ has! Wake up, and try to listen to what is going on. Mr. —— is going to sing now. Come off.” As the girl led her away between the walls of canvas, one of those insignificant incidents occurred, upon which nevertheless the fate of hundreds sometimes hang. Away among the back scenes through which they passed to reach the green-room, there was a chandelier hanging flaring in the draught. A boy seemed busy with it. “Hoist it up higher, sir, why don’t you?” exclaimed one of the players, who happened to come up. “If I do, it will set fire to the scenes,” replied the boy. “Confound your insolence, do you think I would give you the order, if there were the least danger! Do as you are directed, sir.” The boy obeyed; and the scenery instantly took fire. The chandelier was hastily drawn down; the alarm was given in the rear of the stage, and a scene shifter directed to cut the cords by which the combustible material was suspended. But the man became panic struck and fled.