"Great God! It is Queenie herself! Do the dead come back from the grave? I must see her, speak to her!" exclaimed Captain Ernscliffe, in a passionate undertone, as he sprang up and turned toward the box door. Lord Valentine, who had watched him attentively, caught him by the arm. "Ernscliffe, are you mad? We all see the resemblance. It is accidental, of course. What would you do?" Ernscliffe shook off his grasp roughly. "Yes, I am mad!" he exclaimed, "for I believe that the dead is alive, and that yonder _Juliet_ is my lost bride, Queenie Lyle!" He opened the box door with a shaking hand and rushed wildly out. La Reine Blanche went on with her part and acted more brilliantly than ever. She surpassed herself. She seemed under the influence of some strong excitement that lent new power and force to her superb rendition of _Juliet_. The vast and brilliant audience was fairly carried away. At the close of the second act flowers fairly rained upon her. She was called back before the curtain and the thunders of applause shook the building. Then the manager came to her with a little bit of pasteboard in his hand. "Madame De Lisle," he said, "there is a gentleman outside who is so opportune in his desire to see you that I was forced to bring you his card, although I know you always refuse to make men acquaintances." She took the card and read the name: "Lawrence Ernscliffe." "Will you see him?" asked the manager, seeing that she stood silent as if hesitating. "No, no," she answered. "Tell him he must excuse me--I have to dress for my part in the third act." The manager turned away and the beautiful actress pressed her lips passionately upon the insensible little bit of pasteboard she held in her white and jeweled hand. "At last, at last!" she murmured, "yet I must not meet him to-night. I could not go on with my part--it would unfit me for anything. I must postpone my long-sought happiness yet a little longer. To-morrow--ah, _to-morrow_!" She walked up and down, pressing her hands on her wildly beating heart as if to still its convulsive throbs. "They say that happiness never kills," she said. "If it were otherwise I should feel afraid--my heart aches with joy--it seems as if it would burst, it is so full of happy emotion!" She went back on the stage and a timid glance showed her Lawrence Ernscliffe back in the box looking terribly restless and disappointed. She was afraid to meet his eyes again, but she knew that he watched her through every scene, devouring every movement with passionate, yearning eyes. At the close of the act she saw a lovely bouquet thrown from his hand, and picking it up she discovered a tiny note among the flowers. When the curtain fell she read the hastily penciled lines: "MADAME DE LISLE:--For God's sake let me see you, if only for a moment. I _must_ speak to you; I shall go mad if you don't take pity on my anxiety and grant an interview to "LAWRENCE ERNSCLIFFE."