kept them in sight until he saw them enter the side-door of the theatre. Then he asked a door-keeper, "Who are those ?? "Two of the ladies attached to the theatre," replied the

man.

"Fool that I was !" exclaimed Frank Fairfax, as he turned away.

Captain Fairfax had reached Richmond that day at noontoo late, by half a day, for the stage to L- whither he would have gone, if possible, on the wings of the wind. His mother, warned by the newspapers, had been daily expecting his arrival, and was prepared to receive him when he presented himself. He had spent the whole afternoon with her at Fairview House, and in the evening had walked out to book his place in the next day's stage for L. It was when hurrying along on that errand that he passed so near his wife, electrifying her with his unknown presence, and being himself drawn to follow, and to hover near her all the evening; for when he had turned from the theatre, and hurried on and reached the stage-office and secured his place, finding out that the coach did not start till three o'clock the next morning, he said to himself, How on earth shall I contrive to forget some of these miserable hours that must intervene before I can fly to my wife? My mother's illhealth obliges her to retire early to bed. If I go back to Fairview House, I shall have the whole mansion to myself. I will even go to the theatre, and see if I can find out among the women there the particular one whose air and gait reminded me so strongly of my Zuleime."

And so to the theatre he went. It was quite early, and he was fortunate in securing a seat in the centre of the first row of boxes, immediately in front of the stage. In the meantime, Zuleime had been conducted by Mrs. Knight into the theatre, and introduced into the common dressing-room of the stock actresses. This was a large room, with a broad shelf or dresser running around three sides of the walls, and about four feet from the floor. This served as bureaus, dressing-tables, and wash-stands for nine women, each of the three sides being occupied by three, who equally divided the shelf, each one having her band-boxes under the shelf, and her looking-glass on top of it, leaning against the wall, and her wash-basin, jars of rouge, boxes of powder, pots of pomatum, &c., standing around it. On introducing her

companion into this apartment, Mrs. Knight said, "All women belonging to the theatre use this as a common dressing-room, except the ballet-girls, who have one to themselves, and the stars, who have separate and well-furnished rooms.'

About half-a-dozen women were present now, each before her own glass, with her own tallow candle, making her toilet.

Who's that, Knight, that you've got there?" asked a coarse-featured, black-eyed girl, who always played the hoyden or the wit, and fondly believed herself a proficient in the Rosalind and Beatrice line. "I say, Knight, is that the young lady?'" she repeated, turning round, with a little wad of raw cotton, dipped in carmine, between her finger and thumb, and exhibiting a face in process of being rejuvenated-namely, with one young and blooming cheek, and one prematurely old and sallow.

"Yes, this is the young lady, Barry," said Mrs. Knight very gravely, as she led her protégée off to her own corner of the common dresser.

"I think she might have sent her down with the balletgirls, as she is really one of them," grumbled a large, important-looking female, arranging a huge turban and curls upon her head, at the farther end of the room. Two new ideas, besides that of the common dressing-room, and the dressing-shelf in general, Zuleime had got-namely, first, that there really was some very lofty notions of rank and exclusiveness even among the members of the stock company of a second-rate theatre-secondly, that they really, after all, did not differ much in that or any other respect from people she had met in very high society, except, indeed, that they had the odious habit of calling each other "Knight" or "Barry," as men do, without a prefix of any sort.

Mrs. Knight dressed herself for her part, as she was to appear in the early scene in the play, and then gave the use of her toilet nook to Zuleime. But the cold walk through the evening air, and the standing in the chilly dressing-room, had so increased her cough, that Mrs. Knight went out and sent a call-boy for opium, and administered a dose; it was under the influence of that stupifier that Zuleime, leaning on the arm of Mrs. Knight, entered that terra incognita, the green-room. It was a long room, papered, curtained, carpeted, furnished with sofas and easy-chairs, and warmed by

a fine coal fire : upon the whole, it differed in no other respect than its motley crowd from a large family parlour. Mrs. Knight conducted her to a corner of the sofa nearest the fire, and, leaving her sitting there, obeyed the call-boy's summons, and went upon the stage. Composed into a dreamy state by the opium, Zuleime sat there while the strange scene, with its fantastical crowd, passed before her like the phantasmagoria of a midnight dream. And all this time Frank sat in the centre box of the front row, not seeing the play enacting before him—not thinking of it-only seeing the turnpike road to L- Only thinking of the dearest girl in the world, whom he should meet at the end of his journey. Paper walls again!

Zuleime remained in the corner of the sofa near the fire in the green-room, not thinking at all, not even dreaming, only conscious in a vague dreamy way that a strange vision, changing and changing like figures in the kaleidoscope, was passing before her. She was scarcely aroused by Mrs. Knight's gentle voice, saying in her ear, "Come, my dear, it is time for you to go on now. Come, don't be afraid! Bless you, you are nobody, you know. No one will look at You will be only one of a group that forms a sort of background to the scene. Come, I will go with you to the side-entrance, where the others stand."

you.

Zuleime obeyed mechanically, and was led, between various walls of canvas, to a side-entrance, at which were grouped a number of persons in villagers' costume.

"There, just go on with the crowd, and stand there; that is all you have to do," whispered Mrs. Knight, as she left her.

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 stentor-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

She,

nightmare, without the power of moving or waking. 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 halfstupified 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?

part!”

That warn't a part of your

'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.

The performers and their assistants in vain sought to tear down the scenery. The canvas was covered with a resinous composition, and the draught of wind was strong; and Zuleime and her companion were swiftly encircled by walls of blazing canvas. The strong girl, terror-stricken, left her weak companion and fled; and the poor invalid, forgotten by all in the terror and confusion, sank down overpowered, suffocated by the heat and smoke. All this had happened in less than three minutes from the raising of the chandelier.

And at this time one of the performers was playing near the orchestra; and the greater part of the stage, with its appalling danger, was fatally concealed from the audience by the curtain. The flames spread with the rapidity of lightning; and the first notice the audience had of their danger was the fire falling from the ceiling upon the head of the performer. Even then many supposed it to be a part of the play, and were for a short time restrained from flight by a cry from the stage that there was no danger. But soon the fire flashed in every part of the house with a rapidity horrible and appalling. Then terror seized upon the hearts of all, and the audience broke up in confusion. Those in the pit escaped by the pit entrance, and were every one saved. Those in the boxes, who, had they known it, might at first have escaped by way of the pit, all turned and hurried towards the only door of egress into the lobby. This door was unfortunately hung to open on the inside; and this circumstance was fatally overlooked by the frenzied crowd, who pressed and pressed against the door, trying to push it open, but really keeping it fast closed. The fire advanced upon them, filling the house with suffocating smoke, and with flame that seized the clothing of those behind, goading them horribly to still more frantic pressure upon those before. The most frightful uproar ensued; women shrieking, praying; men groaning, expostulating: all crowding one upon another, or rather hundreds upon hundreds, and all pressing towards the door that would not yield. The pit was now a lake of fire, darting out huge tongues of flame that wound themselves around the forms of the hindmost, who fell shrivelled into the blaze; then arose cries of horror, anguish and despair-children crying for lost parents, and parents