Act four was short; and from curtain to curtain Miss Derring held the stage. Therefore she had no knowledge of what was taking place in her dressing-room. Whether Peter came back with any coherent intention of finding Grace. I can not say. It is not likely. The most intensely exciting evening of his life had reached its climax in a short scene in which a young woman had stabbed him. Immediately preceding this event, he had encountered the astounding fact that the girl it seemed to him he had always loved more than any one else in the world was married--married to his old chum. As he ran through the dark passage from the street to the stage door, his hand still clutched the paper on which he had written the sonnet that was to touch her heart. You are to remember that this bit of verse had considerable emotional quality and more than a touch of grace. He had written it on an old envelope, seated in a crowded theater; but then, Schubert wrote wonderful songs on restaurant menus. It is so that things are done in the world of temperament.... I don't believe he knew what he was doing, then or later; perhaps, until the next morning. If Peter ever knew what he was doing! The curtain was already up when he slipped sidewise past the doorman, through the vestibule, on to the stage. It was dim and still back there. Far away, beyond the great shadowy cluster of canvas and wood structures that made up the fourth act set, he could hear Grace's voice. Down front, by the prompt corner stood a silent little group--four or five actors, the electrician, the mighty Max Neuerman in his shirt-sleeves. Scene flats, six deep, were propped against the wall. He had to pick his way between piled-up properties and furniture. Two stage hands moved aside and let him by. He was conscious of feeling weak. His head was a maelstrom of whirling emotions. He was frightened. He couldn't get his breath. It wouldn't do to stay around here--perhaps make a scene and spoil his own play. He had no means of knowing for certain that Maria had not escaped MacMerry and pursued him up the passage. What if she should overpower the doorman--a superannuated actor--and get at him again! Even if she shouldn't, he might faint, or die. It was curiously hard to breathe. He felt his way past more scenery, more properties. There was a doorway in the concrete stage wall, leading to dressing-rooms on a corridor, and more dressing-rooms up a twisting iron stairway.