have in store for the carpenter's daughter, but of all that
audience I was probably the most impatient.

"There is the Count," whispered Rayel, directing my
attention to the opposite box. The diabolical little
Frenchman was there, sure enough, sitting next to the rail,
and sweeping the audience with his opera-glasses.

Soon the curtain was rung up and the rehearsal began which
was to test the powers of the venturesome young lady.
Suddenly she appears at the rear of the stage dressed for
her part in Elizabethan costume. She is greeted with loud
applause, and she stands a moment, waiting for silence. The
lights have been turned down and I cannot see her face
distinctly. Before the last ripple of applause is quieted,
she advances down the centre of the stage and begins to
speak her lines. That voice! What is there in it that
thrills me so strangely? When she ceases speaking she is
standing almost within reach of my hand. Suddenly her eyes
meet mine and I see Hester Chaffin standing there on the
stage and looking into my face. She recognizes me, for she
seems confused and proceeds with evident embarrassment.

I turned to Rayel--he, too, was deeply moved by this great
surprise.

"Our woman has come to life," said he, in tremulous
whispers. "I knew we would see her sometime."

How she had changed! She was little more than a child when I