began to descend.

The dancer was forgotten, swept as it were from the minds of the
audience as an insect whose life was of no account. From the back of the
stage came a roar like the roar of an open furnace. A great wave of heat
rushed into the hall, and people turned like terrified, stampeding
animals and made for the exits.

The Dragon-Fly still stood behind the footlights poised as if for
flight, glancing this way and that, shimmering from head to foot in the
awful glare that spread behind the descending curtain. It was evident
that retreat behind the scenes was impossible, and in another moment or
two that falling curtain would cut off the only way left.

But suddenly, before the dancer's hunted eyes, a man leapt forward. He
held up his arms, making himself heard in clear command above the
dreadful babel behind him.

"Quick!" he cried. "Jump!"

The wild eyes flashed down at him, wavered, and were caught in his
compelling gaze. For a single instant--the last--the trembling,
glittering figure seemed to hesitate, then like a streak of lightning
leapt straight over the footlights into the outstretched arms.

They caught and held with unwavering iron strength. In the midst of a
turmoil indescribable the Dragon-Fly hung quivering on the man's breast,
the gauze wings shattered in that close, sustaining grip. The
safety-curtain came down with a thud, shutting off the horrors behind,
and a loud voice yelled through the building assuring the seething crowd