l was seething flame. It was like some
magnificent spectacular production--some Satanic pantomime and ballet,
and every now and then a whirling flame, crowned with myriad sparks,
sprang madly up into the very sky like some devilish _premiere danseuse_;
while the lesser fiends joined hands and circled frenziedly below.

Mr. Daly never spoke a word. He had not released my fingers, and so we
stood, hand in hand, watching silently over the torment of his beloved
theatre--the destruction of his gathered treasures. I looked up at him.
His face gleamed white in the firelight; his eyes were wide and strained;
his fingers, icy cold, never lessened their clinching grasp on mine. Then
came the warning cry firemen are apt to give when they know the roof is
going. I had heard it often, and understood that and their retreating
movement. Mr. Daly did not, and when, with a crackling crash, the whole
roof fell into the roaring depths, his hand, his body, relaxed suddenly;
a sort of sobbing groan escaped his pale lips. But when the column of
glowing sparks flew high into the air he turned away with a shiver and
gave not one other look at the destroyed building.

Not one word was spoken on the subject. Glancing down he noticed I had no
rubbers on and that streams of water were running in the street:

"Go home, child!" he said, speaking quickly and most kindly. A crowd of
reporters came up to him: "Yes," he said, "in one moment, gentlemen,"
then to me: "Hurry home, get something to eat--you could have had no
dinner!"

He gave one heavy sigh, and added: "I'm glad you were with me, it would
have been worse alone." He pushed me gently from him. As I started down
the street he called: "I'll send you word some time to-night what we're
to do."

I left him to the reporters; I had not spoken one word from the moment I
had begged to enter my dressing-room. I felt strangely sad and forlorn as
I dropped, draggled and tired, into a chair. I said to mother: "It's
gone! the only theatre in New York whose door was not barred against me,
and--I--I think that at this moment I know just how a dog feels who has
lost a loved master," and, dropping my face upon my hands, I wept long
over the destruction of my first dramatic home in New York, the little
Fifth Avenue Theatre.

CHAPTER FORTIETH

We Become "Barn-stormers," and Return to Open the New Theatre--Our
Astonishing Misunderstanding of "Alixe," which Proves a Great Triumph.

My first t