Young Savage had sunk back to his lover-like position as the bell rang, and went through his part with a hot flush on his cheek, and a quick sense of the ridiculous position he filled quivering around his handsome mouth. But though master of himself, he heard the bell ring with a sense of infinite relief, and instantly sprang up, uttering what I am afraid would have been a very naughty exclamation had it been allowed to go beyond his breath. “Ah! I thought you would be surprised,” cried Miss Eliza, beaming upon him in the twilight of the stage. “Believe me, dear Mr. Savage, I never suspected that you had any share in the conspiracy to keep me in the shade. But I have defeated them for once; and I saw by that flush on your cheek how completely you triumphed with me.” Savage struggled to keep from laughing, and submitted to the pressure which Eliza gave his hand between her two palms with becoming philosophy. “I suppose they will expect us to give place to the next tableau,” he said, quietly releasing his hand. “This way, if you are going to the dressing-room.” Miss Eliza took his arm, and marched triumphantly off the platform. At the first step she met Georgiana coming back breathless. “It is over,” said Miss Eliza, solemnly; “the evil machinations of my enemies has, for once, been defeated; tell Mrs. Savage and her crew this, with my compliments. The audience out yonder can tell you that, for once, they have seen a genuine tableau, truthful, artistic, rich in passionate silence. Mr. Savage here can tell you how it was received with touching and intense stillness; then a ripple of admiration; then a buz of admiring curiosity. We came away to avoid the outburst of enthusiasm, which was no doubt overwhelming.” “What is this about? What does it all mean?” said Georgiana, bewildered. “Am I too late? After all, it seems that no one really sent for me.” “Indeed!” exclaimed Miss Eliza, with a toss of the head. “Have you just found that out?” “The tableau is over,” said young Savage, laughing in spite of himself. “Miss Halstead has honored me by taking your place.” Georgiana was dumb with angry astonishment; a flood of scarlet rushed over her face and neck. She even clenched her little hand, and, for once, made a fist of it that would have done great credit to a belligerent child ten years old. Then she burst into a laugh, musical as a gush of bird songs in April. “You didn’t do that, Miss Eliza. Oh! it is too, too delicious. Savage on his knees, you ——” Again she burst forth into a musical riot of laughter, while Eliza stood before her frowning terribly. I am afraid Savage joined her; but the two voices harmonized so well that Miss Eliza never was quite certain. “Georgiana Halstead, I hate you!” she cried, with a sweep of the right arm. “I—I can’t help it,” pouted the young girl, pressing a hand hard against her lips; “the whole thing is so comical. What will Mrs. Savage say?”